


TMNT Have Dinner With Me

by Mysteryred



Category: TMNT - Fandom, Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles - All Media Types
Genre: Action/Adventure, Awkward Flirting, Bigotry & Prejudice, Chance Meetings, Drama, F/M, Humor, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-02
Updated: 2016-05-19
Packaged: 2018-05-24 09:26:14
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 25
Words: 64,052
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6149020
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mysteryred/pseuds/Mysteryred
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A chance meeting in a store leaves an impression on both human and turtle. Mutant citizen AU. I needed a warm up and this happened. I do not own TMNT.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Have Dinner With Me

**Author's Note:**

> I tend to blend the 2012 & 2014 turtles. When writing adult pieces I typically utilize 2014 physical appearance but prefer the 2012 storyline.

Denim enjoyed stocking shelves.  Well, when the product was something light, like protein bars.  She didn’t care to spend too much time in the vitamin aisle though.  It was too close to the cold medicine in the next one over.  And where there were people buying medications, there were sick people.  She definitely didn’t want whatever they had. 

She finished emptying one carton and heard a mother shriek nearby. 

“Tommy!  Tommy, get away from that- _thing_!  It could be dangerous!”  The sounds of squeaking shopping cart wheels hit Denim’s ears. 

 _What is that about?_   She turned her back toward the sound, determined to mind her own business.  Denim wasn’t the type to stick her nose where it didn’t belong and reached for her box cutter, opening the next box on her cart. 

“What the hell is that?” Another customer shouted.

“It’s stank ass nasty is what it is!”  Someone replied.

Denim’s back tensed.  _Don’t get involved.  Don’t._  

“Freak!” Yet another voice chimed in.

Whatever was going on was close, maybe an aisle or two over and sounded like it was drawing a small crowd. 

“I didn’t know this store let mutants shop here,” A customer murmured to her companion, moving quickly past Denim’s aisle.

“I’m taking my business elsewhere,” her counterpart replied.

 _A mutant?_  

Understanding settled in Denim’s chest and her stomach clenched.  The customers were harassing a mutant.  Her fingertips pressed tight against the box cutter in her hand she abandoned her cart to march toward the gathering crowd, and push her way through.

“Disgusting.  They should all be euthanized,” snarled a customer.

“Abominations.  The end of the world is surely near.  I will pray for these demons.”  An older woman preached as Denim passed her.

The crowd was at least ten people thick, and their protests crept their way to her eardrums like a burrowing insect.  Denim frowned. “Excuse me, please,” she said weaving her way through the crowd. 

Most of the customers were too enthralled in whoever they had in their sights and ignored her requests to be allowed through.

“You know I think they’re hiring them here now,” a woman complained to her husband.  “It’s repulsive.  I mean they sell food here, it’s unsanitary.”

“They have to hire them, all that equal rights bullshit,” he replied.

Denim had never seen a mutant in person.  She’d heard about them on the news, had seen video footage of evolved dogs, cats, squirrels, and apes, among others.  She had some idea of what to expect.  Or so she thought.

 “Ew.  Ah man, it’s bleedin’ all over the place!” The customer in front of her yelled, backing up a step.  He seemed to be the closest to whoever they’d cornered.

“Get back, get back, biohazard!”  Someone beside him yelled, backing into Denim.

Her jaw clenched, and her foot hurt from being stepped on.  “I said, excuse me, please!” she shouted as the customer stepped on her. 

He didn’t apologize, instead turned and barreled through exclaiming, “Its blood could be poisonous!”

“Somebody call security!” Someone in the crowd bellowed.

Denim stopped at the edge of the gathering, all the onlookers behind her.  There was another crowd blocking the other end, and their taunts seemed to drift over her head as if she were wearing noise blocking headphones.  Her heart began to pound and her legs grew shaky at sight of the being leaning against a creaking near empty shelf.

A shell loomed over masculine shoulders, the tails of a blood-stained orange mask draping very green skin.  Denim’s eyes swept over his panting form.  His eyes were squint shut then opened to look at the shelf.  One hand slid toward the right, reaching for a box of bandages but his fingers fumbled and knocked more of them to the floor.  Denim noticed the rest of the shelves contents were covered in blood-splattered first aid supply boxes.

“It’s filthy and it’s bleeding everywhere!”

“Mutant trash, you belong in a circus!   You side show freak!”

The crowd’s insults didn’t seem to faze the enormous turtle-man.  He was too injured to care and probably used to it, she supposed.  Well she’d heard enough.  She’d been bullied as a child and it had messed her up, even as an adult.  She wouldn’t stand for it.  She wanted to rip into the lot of them, but her subconscious reminded her.  _You need this job._  

“Everyone please!” She shoved her box cutter in the pocket of her khaki pants and waved her hands at the crowd.  “Please, keep back.  He’s hurt.”

“Security coming through!  Get back!  Everyone back, please clear out of the area.  The police have been called.”  A taser wielding security guard pushed his way to the front. 

Denim blocked the guard from moving towards the turtle.  She knew the stores security officer.  Keith Lowry, was a retired vet who treated loss prevention like a heinous crime.  He’d scare a toddler who’d stolen bubble gum he was so strict, and it really pissed her off.

“Denim, this is a biohazard and he could be dangerous.  Step away from the mutant.” Lowry ordered.

“You back off, Keith.  He’s hurt.  And the rest of you need to move on.  If you aren’t going to help then go!”  She scanned the products scattered over the floor and found a box of gloves.  Ignoring the protesting guard who didn’t seem to have the courage to come any closer, she ripped open the box and tugged a pair on.  Then she tore into a box of gauze pads. 

With her hands full of gauze, she stepped so close to the turtle she could smell a mix of copper, and another scent, she swore resembled pizza.  This took her by surprise and she inhaled again to be sure.  Definitely pizza. 

He was big enough that even in his injured state he could swipe an arm and floor her.  But as she came closer she sensed no malice from him.  In fact the crowd of people held more venom.

“Hi,” the mutant managed in between pained huffs.  “You, uh, a vet or something?” He attempted to laugh at himself then hissed and drew a hand to his side.

Denim’s eyes followed his movement, in part ready to leap back in case he was more animal than human.  Animals, after all didn’t always understand you were trying to help.  But then he’d feigned a joke at his own expense, at that seemed pretty intelligent.

Blood trickled over the fingers covering his side and he leaned on the shelf more.  It creaked then began to bow beneath his weight.

“No, I’m not a vet.  I just-,” Denim glanced at the looming onlookers, felt anger build in her heart. “I hate bullies,” she said loud enough for everyone to hear. 

The corners of the turtle’s wide mouth tipped up.  “Yeah, me too,” he panted.  He opened one eye for the first time to look at her. 

Her mouth fell open at sight of his sky blue irises.  His eyes were so human, so, beautiful.  She couldn’t look away from them.

“You, uh, should take a picture,” his voice came out weak, between labored breaths.

Denim rolled her eyes.  “That joke is older than me.” 

The curve of his mouth spread wider and little wrinkles met the corner of the one eye.  She wanted to see the other but it was still pressed against the shelf that threatened to collapse at any given moment. 

“You should sit down.  That shelf can’t hold you much longer.  But before you do, let me help stop the bleeding there.” She motioned to the hand covering his side.

“D-don’t worry about it, Babe.  My bros,” he stopped for a breath, “my bros will be here any-”

He didn’t get to finish as the crowd seemed to peel away from both ends of the aisle and two enormous turtles filled the space.  A third stepped around the purple masked one nearest their end of the aisle.  Denim swallowed at sight of him, felt her heart beating hard in her chest. 

The blue masked terrapin’s eyes shifted from the orange masked turtle to her.  She shuffled her feet back and out of his way, almost bumping into the purple masked one.  She heard an animalistic growl from the far end of the aisle where a red-masked turtle spat out a string of profanity at lingering onlookers.

The blue one moved then, slipping the orange ones arm over his shoulder and helping him down the aisle.  Denim blinked, taking in the surreal scene playing out before her.  She’d seen not one, but four mutants, up close.  And she’d lived to tell about it.  As is if she had anyone to tell. 

She blinked again and they were gone.  The only indication that they’d been there, was the blood-splattered floor and mess of first-aid supplies.  Her world tipped on its axis and she lifted one hand for the shelf to steady herself.  It gave one final groan and collapsed, spilling all twenty-feet of its remaining contents over the floor.  The shelf beneath it gave way, dumping on top of that. 

Denim let out a groan as product piled up to her calves around her.  When she looked up, two armed police officers blocked either end of the aisle with their guns drawn.

“I need a drink,” she deadpanned.

*

A Month Later

Denim had reservations about stocking the first-aid aisle.  Every time she passed it the scene from that day replayed itself and she’d spend hours recounting the different ways she wished it had played out.  She should’ve done more.  Why hadn’t she cursed the crowd?  Why hadn’t she thrown things at them in an effort to get them to go away?  Why had they been such assholes?  And what became of the terrapin?  How had he gotten hurt?  What happened? 

She reached for her box cutter and opened the carton of athletic wrap.  As she hung the rich-vibrant orange tape on its peg she heard a familiar voice from behind her.

“I need like all of that.  And I mean, like all of it.  Just, you should just, give me the case.” 

Denim’s fingers released the package, hung suspended in the air as her heart began to pound.  Great.  Now she was fantasizing his voice too.

The air shifted slightly behind her and the hair rose on her neck.  She straightened, turning her head to face whoever had crept up on her.  One thing she knew about not wanting to be a victim was that if anyone walked up on you, turn to face them and look them in the… eye. 

_Those eyes._

Her mouth fell open as she found herself staring into two, perfect, heavenly blue eyes, outlined in a worn orange mask.

He grinned at her in an almost childlike way.  Then he began shifting his feet, but never looked anywhere but in her eyes. 

“So, uh, hi, I’m Michelangelo.” He held out a three fingered hand to her and she stared at it dumbly. 

Long seconds passed before he let out a jittery laugh and moved to withdraw his hand.

She thrust out her own and grabbed his fingers to stop him.  _Oh!_  She must seem awkward and desperate, or strange and stupid.  _Let him go!_  She stared at her fingers, wrapped around only one of his and barely so it was so thick.  His skin was surprisingly smooth and cool to the touch.  _Reptilian._  

He let out another laugh, but it was so fraught with nerves her heart jolted with sympathy.  She managed to command her fingers to part and release him then looked from his retreating green hand to his fair blue eyes. 

“What’s your name?” he asked, smiling.

 _Gods those are the most innocent and hopeful eyes I’ve ever looked in.  Ever._   She swallowed and opened her mouth but nothing came out.

He didn’t seem bothered and glanced at her nametag.  “Denim?  Like, blue jeans?”

“Blue jeans,” she repeated.  _He’s big, and muscled, and scarred, and, and… Hot.  Wow.  Just.  Wow._

“I, uh-” He rubbed a hand over the back of his mask then reached by her head for a package of athletic wrap, in the process knocking over everything beneath it.  He chuckled and stepped back, rubbing his mask again.  “My bad,” he said still backing away, then bumping into the shelf behind him and knocking over all of its contents.  He spun around, trying to catch things only bumping into more. 

Denim was grateful it was early and there weren’t many customers in the store yet.  Though she suspected it would only be a few minutes before Keith would be there.  He watched the cameras like a hawk. 

As Michelangelo continued knocking over products she heard a noise from the aisle behind her.  It sounded like someone face palming themselves and someone else groaning. 

“Man, I’m sorry.  I don’t, I didn’t mean to,” Michelangelo filled his arms with band-aids, and gauze then stood before her.  “Uh, here?”

Denim stared at him. 

What was wrong with her?  Why wasn’t she helping him?  What was he doing there?  What happened that day?

Michelangelo’s smile faded.  “I’m sorry.  I didn’t, I uh.” His shoulders slumped and his voice fell. “I just wanted to say thank you.”

“And, and, ask her, Mikey!” She heard a little voice near his head and he swallowed hard, before dropping half the items in his arms to reach up and adjust the volume on a little speaker clipped to the tail of his mask.

“He-he, you, uh, you can hear that.  Can’t you?” he fidgeted with the device and the volume grew louder instead of lower.

“Just ask her for cryin’ out loud.  I got shit to do today!” Complained a different voice.

The bitter sound coming through the speaker echoed with feedback, like from a microphone, as if it came from nearby.  Denim eyed the device, glanced at a cheesing Michelangelo, then walked to the end of the aisle and looked in the next aisle over but found it empty.

She turned to face Michelangelo again and found him looking over her shoulder as if he were searching for something too.  “What are we looking for?” he asked.  The closeness of him sent her heart racing and it took her a few seconds to realize she was laughing.  She looked up at him, and he down at her with a big smile on his face.

“Who _are_ you?” she asked in all sincerity. 

How had someone so clearly _not human_ left such an impression, for his personality was very much so and it wasn’t _what_ he was that intrigued her now.  It was his antics.  She hadn’t been able to stop thinking about that day, or him since it happened, and there he was.  And she’d been sure she’d never see him again.  Her chest tightened as he stepped back and began toying with a box of antibiotic cream behind her.  He would leave soon.  The store would be getting busy.  _Would_ she ever see him again?

“I’m just a guy, really.”  He said, poking a box with his finger.  It slid on the shelf, toward the edge and tipped to fall over but he caught it and put it back.  “Uh, Denim, I was wondering, do you,” he hesitated, “do you like pizza?”  His gaze shifted from the box to her and he appeared to be holding his breath.

“Pizza?” she echoed.  “Yes, who doesn’t?”

He exhaled a sigh of relief.  “That’s good, cos if you didn’t that would seriously destroy any chances of this going anywhere.”  He laughed, seeming genuinely relieved.

This?  Going anywhere? 

His laugh seemed to fall on dead air and she heard the nearby groan again.  Michelangelo looked to the mess on the floor and reached for some packages of athletic wrap.  He seemed so genuine, warm, and endearing.  She found herself reaching for boxes too. 

“Anyway, I just wanted to thank you.  You know.  For that day.  And,” he dumped the contents into her stock cart.  “I’m glad you like pizza.  You’re uh, too pretty to not like it.  That would be just-”

The poor guy.  As he squirmed and fidgeted, dropping some of the boxes he was trying to put in the cart, his face worked in deep concentration but not at all on what he was doing and she fought an intense urge to still him. 

“Michelangelo,” she said, surprising herself as her fingers appeared over his.  “Would you like to have dinner with me?”

 


	2. Messy

Denim paced before her bathroom mirror. "What was I thinking?" She wrung her hands, glanced at herself and frowned. Her stomach flip flopped. She glanced at the toilet, shook her head and swallowed. 

A knock on the bathroom door startled her. "You okay in there?" her mother asked.

Denim raised a hand over her fluttering heart and leaned against the door. Her throat tightened as she tried to speak. "Y-yeah, Mom. I'm okay," she croaked. 

She wasn't okay. Her eyes closed and she sank to the floor. Would Kyle ever forgive her? Was it too soon? Surely, it was too soon. Cancel. She should call Michelangelo and cancel. But he was so funny, friendly and... clumsy in a sweet way. And it had been so long since anyone looked at her. Like really, looked at her the way he had. 

Her throat ached like there was something stuck in the back of it, and her chest hurt. Gods how it hurt. How was it too soon yet it felt like it had been so long? What was she using to count the time? Was there etiquette for things like this, and if there was why didn't she know it? 

"Denim Nichole, this phone of yours is buzzing. Are you leaving or what? And when are you coming back? I don't want to be driving home late. And-"

Denim rubbed her face, and tuned her mother out as she got to her feet then looked at her reflection. Did she look like she'd been crying? She traced the underline of the dark circles beneath her eyes. She'd attempted to cover them with concealer and failed. Her navy irises were framed with blood-shot whites, but her mascara had been waterproof and held up. She smoothed her long red hair and reapplied her lip gloss. 

"I'm sorry, please understand. I miss you, I love you, but I'm," her eyes welled, "I'm lonely, and he's nice. I think he’s nice anyway. I hope he is. Well, I want to know and there’s only one way to find out." Her lip trembled and she held her breath trying to push down the tide rising within.

"Denim! I want to go home sometime tonight and I can't do that if you never leave," her mother called.

Denim took a slow steady breath, straightened the strap on her green sundress and opened the bathroom door. 

Her mother was standing outside, one eyebrow arched, and one hand on her hip. "You sure you're not rushing this?"

Denim flinched. "Do you think I am?"

Her mother shook her head. "That's not for me to decide. That's up to you. So is he coming to pick you up?"

Denim stepped around her mother, grabbing her purse from the coffee table then slipping her feet into her sandals. "I'm meeting him at Murakamis. I wanted to keep it casual."

Her mother frowned. "Denim, how well does this man know you?" 

Denim shrugged. "I just met him."

Her mother scoffed. "You haven't told him anything."

Denim clenched her purse. "Mom, I just met him. I don't know him either. That's why people have dinner, to talk and get to know each other." She looked in her mother’s eyes. "I just, I need a little break. I'll keep it short, I promise."

Her mother gave a single nod. Denim glanced toward the hall then to her mother, took a deep breath and left.

Murakamis was a short walk, just four blocks. When Denim ran into Michelangelo just one block from her house she was only slightly surprised, assuming he might live nearby too.

"Hi," he said, flashing her a smile like none she'd ever seen. Every time he did that it made her feel like a tremendous weight had been lifted from her shoulders. He reminded her of a ray of light pushing back the clouds. Yes. That was it. He was like a beam of sunshine.

"Hi," she replied, blushing. Why was she so nervous? She's been so confident in the store. Heck, she'd asked him out! 

His fair blue eyes darted over her then he motioned in the direction of Murakamis. "Mind if I walk with you?"

Denim giggled. "You are my date. It would be strange to not walk together only to meet back up at the dinner table, right?"

Michelangelo let out a nervous laugh then rubbed the back of his mask. He seemed to remember he was wearing it and stopped to untie it and shove the thin orange fabric into the pocket of his jeans. 

Denim stared at his bare face. His spring green cheeks were lightly dusted with freckles, yet there were little wrinkles at the corners of his very human eyes. He had a youthful look about him that she liked, although she suspected he was closer to her in age. But how would she know? "How old are you, Michelangelo?"

"Mikey, you can call me Mikey." He smiled again and started walking while looking at her. "I'm twenty o-oh!"

"Look out for the-" Denim shut her eyes as Michelangelo ran into a telephone pole. 

He grunted, stumbling back then righting himself. He rubbed his head as she rushed toward him.

"Are you, okay?" she asked, examining the lump forming on his head.

He laughed. “Yeah, sorry. It’s fine, really. I’ve had worse.” 

Denim stared at him. Was she supposed to do? Ask what worse was? Was she supposed to ask what happened the day she met him? What was she supposed to do? Her chest felt like there was a belt around it and someone was tightening the cinch. It’d been so long since she’d dated, she couldn’t remember what to do. 

“A guy jumped me in the bathroom, at the store,” Michelangelo said casually.

His red-orange button down shirt blurred into focus. “What?” she asked, looking from the clear buttons to his face, then to the egg forming on the side of his head. “Are you sure you’re okay?”

“The day I met you, I was jumped in the bathroom by some anti-mutant dude with a knife. I knew he was there I just didn’t think he would do anything in the store. He slashed me, and I had to go all ninja-eee on him.” Michelangelo shrugged. “It happens all the time. It’s no big deal. So a bump on the head is no big.”

Denim’s teeth ground together. “No big deal? No big deal? People attack you in a bathroom, and it’s no big deal?” Her hands clenched into fists and Michelangelo’s eyes drifted down to them. 

“You uh, gonna beat me up now or what?” he grinned, “cos’ I think I can take ya.”

Denim followed his gaze to her fists and she closed her eyes, letting out a breath she hadn’t realized she’d been holding. “I’m sorry. I’m sorry people are like that. I’m sorry you put up with it, so often that it’s normal. I’m just,” she looked at him and he gave her a half-smile despite the topic. “Sorry.”

He held out a hand to her. “Eh, don’t be. I’ve been me for twenty-one years. I know there’s just as much good as there is the other.”

Denim took his three fingered hand without hesitating. She liked Michelangelo’s attitude. Even if she didn’t agree with his acceptance of how people were. He deserved better than to spend this date talking about something so terrible. 

They walked hand in hand a few steps when Denim felt like someone was watching her. In the corner of her eye she realized Michelangelo still wasn’t looking where he was going. He was staring at her. 

Her cheeks flushed hot and she glanced at him. “Why do you keep looking at me?”

He grinned so wide his eyes shut. “What can I say, you're hot.”

Denim’s grip loosened and Michelangelo’s smile melted when she went a step further and dropped his hand, folding her arms around herself. Surely he didn't think she was easy!

He waved his hands up as if in surrender. “I mean that in the most respectful way, I swear! I mean, you’re really pretty. That’s all. I swear!”

Denim sucked her bottom lip into her mouth, then looked at her feet. 

“I’m sorry. It was a compliment. I mean, I-” he let out a whiny sound then mumbled, “I don’t know what I’m doing. This is sorta my first date.”

His first date. Like… “Your first date... ever?”

Michelangelo motioned to himself. “Hello? Mutant turtle? Most chicks kinda cringe and runaway, or think I’m some kinda experiment. Well, my brothers anyway. They’ve been burned. Heck, one of them thinks this is a bad idea.”

Denim snickered. “To be honest, this is my first date in a really long time. Like a really, long time. So,” she shrugged. “I don’t really know what I’m doing either.”

She reached out for his hand and he took hers and gave it a gentle squeeze. “Well, then,” he motioned down the sidewalk, “let’s go eat. I’m starving,”

“I don’t sleep around,” she announced after a few steps.

Michelangelo made a choking sound and tripped over his own feet almost taking Denim down with him, before he righted himself and spun around to face her. “Well that’s a relief,” he chuckled, “cos’ I’m not that kinda turtle.”

Denim’s heart was pounding. Why had she said that? Why was everything being said or done so clumsy, so awkward?

“Uh, Denim, I wasn’t joking when I said I was hungry. You wanna?” He took her hand in his and motioned toward Murakami’s with his head.

“Really?” she asked.

“Oh, yeah, I’m always hungry!” Michelangelo nodded, almost dragging her down the sidewalk. 

Denim giggled at his wide-eyed straight faced expression, and felt some of the tension dissolve. She wondered if that tense feeling had all come from her or if he held some too. It didn’t seem to matter as they arrived and were seated right away.

Mr. Murakami appeared to know the turtle well and didn’t even ask what he wanted, instead bringing a heaping plate of something called pizza gyoza to the table. 

“Who is your new friend, Michelangleo-son?” Mr. Murakami asked.

“Oh, this is Denim. She’s my date,” Michelangelo answered with a big smile on his face. 

“Very nice to meet you,” Mr. Murakami semi-bowed and Denim thanked him politely.

Denim stared at the chopsticks that Michelangelo used expertly. Without asking why she wasn’t using them, he reached down and placed them in her hands, positioning her fingers.   
“This finger stays still and this one moves the stick,” he told her then kept eating as if it were no big deal. 

Denim felt inadequate as she fumbled with the gyoza. Mikey dropped his chopsticks and picked a gyoza up with his fingers. He ate one then picked up another and held it out to her. 

Denim leaned forward and took a nibble off the end. She was starving and wanted to devour the delicious dumpling but at the same time she didn’t want to get pizza sauce all over her face. She had a reputation for being messy, and that was definitely not good date etiquette. 

“Come on, now. That’s it?” Michelangelo kept holding the dumpling out to her.

Her mouth was watering, that one bite was so good. “I don’t want you to think I’m a total pig.”

Michelangelo laughed. “Right, because have you seen me eating over here?” He put the dumpling on her plate then popped three more in his mouth getting pizza sauce on his fingers and face. His cheeks were puffed out like a chipmunk they were so full, and he seemed almost delirious as he chewed. 

She picked up the gyoza and took a huge bite. His staring at her didn’t make her feel any more comfortable about it, but her appetite won out and soon they were grabbing up gyoza almost in competition with one another. Although she was sure Mikey was winning. 

They both reached for the last dumpling and bumped hands. “You go ahead,” he told her, although she swore his mouth was watering for it.

“No, you go ahead,” she insisted.

He picked it up and split it in two sharing it with her. Belly full she leaned back and stared at his sauce dashed cheeks, round and playful. She leaned forward and picked up a napkin then wiped the sauce away without thinking about what she was doing.

His blue eyes tracked her every movement, shining and bright. “You uh,” he picked up a napkin and motioned for her lip, brushing away a bit of sauce she half suspected wasn’t actually there. 

“I told you I was messy,” she whispered, unable to look away from him.

They drifted towards each other, her heartbeat becoming an audible whooshing in her ears. Her eyes fell to his smooth green lips across his wide mouth as they gravitated closer still.

Then her phone skittered across the table, flashing an angry red. 

Denim straightened, grabbing the phone and answering it. “Hi Mom. Yes, yes, Mam. No. I’m sorry. I lost track of time. Has it been that long? No, I’ll be home right now. I’m leaving right now. I’m sorry. Yes. I understand. I – Yes, Mam.”

Denim hung up the phone and looked at Michelangelo. 

“Your Mom?” he asked, sitting back in his chair a bit. There was something in his eyes that seemed a bit suspicious or knowing, or something Denim couldn’t put a finger on but he wasn’t teasing.

“Yes. I’m sorry. I have to go.” She stood up, pushing her chair back. 

“How old are you, Denim?” he asked suddenly, not smiling.

The invisible belt tightened around her breast. One thing Michelangelo did not strike her as was stupid. And one thing she wasn’t was dishonest. Well, not entirely. “I’m twenty-one, same as you.” Her fingers closed around her phone and she straightened taking a small step toward the door. “This was fun, Mikey. Oh, I should pay the bill. It was me that asked you out, after all.” Her weight shifted toward Murakmi’s counter.

Michelangelo didn’t move, almost looked relaxed. “No, I’ve got it. Can I just ask you something else?”

Denim took a deep breath and looked at the door, knowing her mother was already furious that she’d have to drive home in the dark. “Yes, but I really need to get back.”

“Why, if your twenty-one, is your mother telling you when to be home?” 

It wasn’t a question, not really. At least it didn’t sound like one to her, and when she looked at him she could see it wasn’t. 

She took a deep breath and looked at the door again. “I’m sorry, Michelangelo. I’ve got to go.” She took two steps before he called to her.

“But you didn’t answer my question.” 

Denim felt his eyes on her back and stopped. Her lip trembled. She should’ve told him from the beginning. It was dishonest not to. But she wanted to pretend, just for a night that she wasn’t… She sighed and hung her head. It was wrong. What she’d done was misleading and wrong. Without looking back she took a few more steps toward the door. 

But he called to her again.

“Hopefully you’ll bring your baby on our next date. From what I hear, they like to eat too.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I had a request for this to be like a 'five-shot' or something. I don't know what it will be, but another scene came to me and I decided to explore it because the OC started telling me she had a story. Lately, I've been trying not to write with OC's but sometimes they pop up and have a story to tell so I've learned to roll with it. Plus, I love showing Michelangelo's serious side, and how observant he is. ;)


	3. Stalker

Denim froze.  Did she just hear him right?  She turned to face him. 

Michelangelo met her with an even gaze but said nothing.

“How did you know?” she asked taking a step toward him.  Her heart was pounding.  How did he know?  He’d only seen her at work the two times, and he didn’t pick her up from her apartment.  Denim hadn’t mentioned anything.  As she took another step toward him his confidence dissolved into something that resembled guilt.

He flashed her a sheepish smile and let out a nervous laugh.  “Uh, my, I, my, I-”

Denim found something akin to anger blooming in her chest.  She came to a stop standing over him.  “How did you know?  I mean it was dishonest of me not to say anything but I just wanted to,” she looked away then back.  “I just wanted to pretend my life isn’t what it is for a minute.  And I really like you.  But I have to know, how?” She shook her head, the anger giving way to something cold and unsettling.  She didn’t really know him.  Was he dangerous?  Had she misread him?

Michelangelo seemed to read her expression.  “Oh no!  No! Be mad, I get it, I do.  But- don’t be scared.” His weight shifted in his chair and Denim held up a hand.  He took a shaky breath, sinking back in his seat.  “Please don’t be scared of me.  I swear I’d never do anything to hurt you.”

Several customers looked toward them and Denim grabbed her chair tugging it up so she came to sit right in front of him.  “I have to get home and relieve my babysitter.  But I want you to hear me.  I don’t know how you know anything about my daughter but you will tell me right now.”

“My brother Googled you.  That’s all I swear.”  Michelangelo rubbed the back of his head.  “And uh- he might have dug deeper into what the search returned.”

Denim’s heart jerked.  She was breaking out in a cold sweat.  How had such a nice night gone so wrong?  “And what did that search return?”

Michelangelo looked to where she was wringing her hands in her lap.  He reached down and she near jumped out of the chair.  But he took her left hand, and gently pressed his thumb to the fading band mark on her ring finger.  “He told me enough.”

Denim jerked her hand away and thrust back the chair, knocking it over. 

“You know nothing.  This is my life.  That is private.  It was private.  It was mine to tell, not for someone else to snoop and- and- Do not, do not,” she started to shake and Michelangelo looked stricken.  “You don’t…” Denim couldn’t speak the lump in her throat was too great.  She spun on her heel and ran out the door.

She didn’t make it to the pedestrian crossing before Michelangelo was calling after her.  “Denim, wait!  Please, let me explain!”

She jabbed the button on the crossing, then wrapped her arms around herself and sniffled.  She swiped at her face then jabbed the button again as he came to a stop behind her.

“I’m sorry.  I didn’t.  Donnie, my brother, he just… it’s dangerous for me.  At least my family thinks so.  They wanted to make sure you weren’t an extremist luring me into a trap or something.  I don’t know.  I mean I didn’t think that.  But they wanted to know more about you before I-”

Denim snorted.  “Extremist?  I _defended_ you remember?  Me a danger to you?  Have you seen yourself, Michelangelo?  You look like you could squish me with one hand.  And by the way your hands are really rough.  How’d they get that way, huh?  Why do you have so many scars?  Have you been attacked that many times?  What do you do that puts you anyplace where you get attacked, oh let me see how many times?” She turned and ran a finger over a scar across his neck, then one over his hand, then another on his head.  “And those are just the ones I can see.”  She glared at him through her tears.  “Seems like I’m not the only one with secrets.  Why do you wear a mask?  Huh?  _Who_ does that?”

“Me.  I do.” Michelangelo’s voice came out soft, and his shoulders slumped.  He looked up at her hopefully.  “Look, can we talk about this?  I really didn’t mean for this to go all wrong.  I really like you, and my brothers knew that.  They were just being cautious.  Remember I did get attacked in a bathroom.”

The crossing light changed and Denim found herself forced to make a decision.  As angry and scared as she was she couldn’t help feeling a tugging at her heart.  One that suggested to her he was telling the truth.  Still, she had responsibilities, she couldn’t take any chances.  There was little room for bad decisions made in the spur of the moment.  “I need to let my mother go home.  Goodnight, Michelangelo.”

***

Denim didn’t know how she’d gotten stuck on a cash register.  She kind of liked it though.  Well except for the part where people were jerks and never helped her get the heavy stuff out of the cart.  They just stared at her, even the big hulking men.  She stared at the guy twice her size as she tugged on a huge bucket of cat litter.  That was another thing, why was fifty pounds of cat litter somehow heavier than fifty pounds of dog food?

“Can I help?” A calm voice asked from the back of her line.

Denim looked up but the customer whose cart she was emptying didn’t move. 

There in the back of her line was a turtle-man.  Her gaze locked with a pair of reddish-brown eyes and she remembered him as the purple banded one from the day she met Michelangelo.  She squared her shoulders and shifted her jaw, then reached into the cart and lifted the cat litter, slamming it onto her check-out counter so hard her customer jumped. 

Denim cashed out the next three customers, noticing the turtle kept moving to the back of the line as people stepped in.  Now all of her customers were gone and he was all that was left. 

“I’m Donatello.  Michelangelo’s brother.  I was wondering if we could talk?” he asked. 

This turtle was taller than Mikey, and leaner.  She studied his purple tie and white button down shirt then looked him in the eye.  “What do you want?”

“To apologize.  My brother told me what happened.  It wasn’t his fault.  He didn’t ask me to do that.  It’s just, our lives are complicat-”

“Complicated?” Denim interrupted him. 

He nodded.

“So is mine.  But I guess you know that.  Don’t you?  You see, Donatello was it?”

He nodded.

She began straightening her work station as she talked to him, intermittently looking him in the eye.  “The thing is, my past, was mine to tell Michelangelo when I was ready.   If and when the time was right.  But you took that from me, and it left me feeling a little like Mikey might be a stalker.” 

She wheeled on the turtle that looked like he could easily break her in two.  She pointed a finger in his face. 

He didn’t move.

“I have a daughter.   I can’t just tell every guy I date about her, what if he wasn’t the right guy?  What if I brought home every random Joe?  Hmm?  Does that sound like I’d be a good, responsible mother to you?  Huh?   How would that confuse her? It’s bad enough-” Denim’s voice broke.  She tried to clear her throat but it was as if a rock was lodged in it. 

“I’m sorry,” Donatello whispered.  “I’m grateful for what he did.”

Denim’s nostrils flared as her breaths rushed in and out.  “Please go,” she managed.

Donatello nodded and took a single step around her before stopping.  “Please just give him a chance.”

Unable to respond, Denim walked two aisles down and called to her manager.  “I’m not feeling well, Joe.  Can I go home?”

Her supervisor looked at her and nodded.  “Yeah, go ahead we’re slow tonight anyway.”

She didn’t look to see if Donatello was still in the store, instead she went to the locker room to get her purse.  She’d walked one block on her way home, holding her phone out with Michelangelo’s number on the screen.  She kept debating.  Call him.  Don’t call.  Call.

What was she thinking?  How had this gone so wrong so quick?  Why was it getting so complicated?  She was just about to hit call when her phone rang. 

Her heart fluttered. She felt the best she had in days when she saw it was him.  She chewed on her lip.  She wanted to answer it, but what was she doing?  What about all the hints of creepy stalker?  If it were only her, she liked him well enough to risk it.  But she had a daughter to think of.

The phone kept ringing and she took a deep breath then answered.  “Hello?”

“So, uh, I don’t want you to think I’m creepier than you already do, but I was uh, I was walking by, well not, but I, I saw you… I see you… and it’s not, this is not the best neighborhood and I… ah gees.  Can I walk you home?”

Denim stopped walking and stared at the phone.  “Are you serious?”

“Yeah,” Michelangelo squeaked, clearly hesitant.

Denim looked around her but didn’t see anyone.  “What the hell, Michelangelo?  Where are you?”

The call disconnected and seconds later she heard him answer, “Right behind you.”

Denim clenched her phone in her hand, spun around and did everything in her power not to launch it at his head.  “This does not help the whole creepy stalker thing!” she yelled.

“Shhh,” he winced.  “Not a good neighborhood.  Like, we should get you home kind of bad.”

Denim looked around then to him.  She noticed he wasn’t wearing a shirt, but he was wearing his mask.  “All right.  That’s it.  You’re obviously not going to just go away.  So what are you a creepy stalker, or what? Hmm?  You level with me and I level with you.  Although it seems kinda pointless since you already know all about me.”

He shook his head. “No, I don’t.  I know nothing.  I’ve erased it from my mind.  Whoosh gone.”  He swiped a hand over his head and flung his fingers as if he were wiping them clean.

“Is that so?” she took a step toward him and picked up the scent of pizza.  She liked how he smelled, it was comforting.  If she could just get him to not be a creepy stalker she’d really like to get to know him better.

“Yes.” He nodded then thrust out his hand.  “I’m Michelangelo, and by night,” he leaned in whispering in her ear.  His lips brushed her skin and she shivered.  “I’m a crime fighting ninja.”

Denim’s heart stopped.  He was crazy.  That’s just great.  He was probably a serial killer and she was a doomed idiot.  She didn’t move and he stepped back  then grinned at her. 

Seeing as she didn’t move or speak his grin gradually dissolved.  “Oh, boy.  You don’t believe me, do ya?”

Did she run?  Where did she run to?  God if he was a stalker he probably already knew where she lived.  She’d have to sacrifice herself.  It was the only way to protect her daughter. 

She looked at Michelangelo who stood there, his eyes widening into large puppy-dog resembling orbs, his hands palms up and open.   The longer the two of them stood there the more stupid Denim felt. 

“Are you going to kill me?” she asked finally.  “Because if you are, can you just do it already?  Just leave my daughter alone though okay?  She’s been through enough.”

Michelangelo took a step back, his shoulders slumping, and the hurt on his face genuine.  “You really think that?”

Denim couldn’t help it, she wanted to rush forward and comfort him.  Something insider her hurt to see him so, crushed?   Yet everything he’d done, everything he’d said… it was insane.

“I don’t know what to think, Michelangelo.  I just know I have a daughter at home that I need to keep safe.  And that even though I really like you, your brother or whoever, did something that doesn’t sit well with me.”

“I’m telling you the truth,” he whispered, fixing his gaze on the store window beside them.  His eyes seemed to dart left to right, then right again and he stepped closer to her.  “This isn’t a good neighborhood.  Please let me walk you  home.  I swear, I swear I’d never hurt you.  I don’t know how to make you believe that, but it’s true.”

Denim didn’t step away, finding herself inhaling the lingering pizzeria aroma that seemed to follow him.  She tried to keep a clear head, but he was so close to her, and shirtless, and _muscled_.  His eyes were so blue and they were… what was he looking at?

“What are you looking at?”She asked in a loud voice.

“Shh,” he hushed her then brazenly grabbed her arm and tugged her into a nearby alley.

“Is this the part where you drag me into the dark and kill me?” she yelled louder still.

“Sorry about this but you are noisy,” he whispered, wrapping a hand around her mouth.  He held her to him, facing out so she could see what he was looking at. 

Only she saw nothing.

Her heart was pounding as she waited for him to kill her, yet as likely as that seemed it also still felt stupid.

He glanced down at her, his eyes gentle and apologetic.  “I mean, they say I’m loud.  But you are _really_ loud. If I take my hand away you have to promise to whisper.”

She nodded and he lowered his callused hand. 

“What are you doing?” she demanded in as hushed a voice as she could manage with her adrenalin pumping.

Michelangelo made a face.  “Really, that’s as quiet as you’ve got?  Does your baby get any sleep, cos’ that’s just sad.”

Denim scoffed then her mouth moved but she couldn’t think of anything to say.

He grinned and she swatted his forearm… which was still wrapped around her.  She looked down at the thick bare arm, scarred like the rest of him, holding her gently but firmly close to him.  She looked up and he was watching something high.

She stared in the same direction as he then thought she saw something moving.  “What was that?”

He gave her a gentle squeeze.  “Ah, see, you’ve got a loud mouth but ninja eyes, there’s hope for you yet.”

“Excuse me, what did you just say?” She tried to brush him off of her but his eyes met hers again and she found herself staring at the soft upturn of his mouth. 

“That’s wasn’t funny,” she pouted. “It wasn’t even nice.”

“Sorry,” he whispered.  Then he loosened his grip.  “I think they’re gone.”

As he released her she found herself feeling exposed, cold even, though it wasn’t a chilly night.  His eyes caught the moonlight and she found them bright and honest. 

“I’m really sorry,” he said, his voice soft.  “Can we please try this one more time?  I’m Michelangelo-”

Denim stepped forward, her torso pressing against his plastron as she stepped up on her toes and pressed a finger to his lips.  “Two things.  One, it’s my turn and two, you talk too much.”

“Okay-” he began but she shushed him again.

“My name is Denim.  I’m a widow.  My husband was in the Mutant Liberation War, and he died on the front lines.  I met him when we were still in elementary school.  When we were eighteen we enlisted together.  He was my best friend, my first love, the father of my child, and until I met you I’ve just been surviving one day at a time.  So please, Michelangelo-”

His fingers were against her lips, his eyes soft and shining in the light.  “I promise I will never hurt you.”

She tipped back her head and found his lips, wide, warm, and soft.  He hummed into her, his fingers weaving through her hair.  Denim was losing herself, marveling at his tenderness, for he was so aloof, so playful.  She scolded herself for even entertaining the idea that he could be a stalker.  She laughed and Michelangelo kissed her again then they pulled apart and he looked at her.

“What?” he asked, pulling his fingers from her hair only to wrap his arms around her again.

Good.  She liked them there, liked the way he felt.  “I’m kissing a stalker.”

Michelangelo stared at her as if trying to decide if she were teasing him or not.  “I’m your personal protect-you-stalker. Yeah.  That’s what I am.” He gave her a gentle squeeze and kissed her cheek.  There was a long moment of silence between them before he told her, “Will you keep seeing me?  I mean, it’s okay if you want to wait before I meet her.  I get it, so take as long as you need.”

It seemed ironic that the cause her best friend had died fighting for brought Michelangelo to her.  For if that battle hadn’t been won Mikey wouldn’t have been walking around out in the open and she’d have never met him. 

She pressed her lips to his, hope blossoming in her heart for the first time in two years.  “Yes, I will keep seeing you, Michelangelo.”


	4. Banged Up

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Wow.  You guys.  I’m floored.  I can’t believe how many responses I’ve gotten to this story.  So thank you, each and every one of you.  I can’t tell you how happy each kudos and comment makes me. This story is on ffdotnet too and is blowing my mind with the reviews.  In fact this was supposed to be a one shot, and because of your encouragement it looks like it’s going to be a full story.  So here we go…

 

Denim’s back and shoulders hurt, in part from moving stock all day.  The rest of it came from stressing over her next dinner date with Michelangelo.  They’d decided to try it again, and while she was looking forward to it her mother wasn’t happy about being asked to babysit again.  Two things were becoming very clear about dating, maybe three.  First, it was going to be difficult to carry on seeing Mikey without introducing him to Allison because her mom wasn’t going to give up her life to watch her every night.  Second, it was going to be expensive if they kept going out to dinner and she kept trying to put together cute outfits with her limited wardrobe; and third it was hard to find the time to see him at all. 

It had been a week since she’d told him a little about her past.  He’d made no indications that he knew anymore than her being a widow, and she knew eventually she’d have to tell him the rest.  But things had been so crazy so quick she decided to try and get to know him better before delving any further into the matter.

Scheduling their next date became somewhat of an undertaking in itself, she had to work, and apparently he was a pizza delivery guy by day and a vigilante by night.  He was pretty booked up himself.  They weren’t going to be the Friday or Saturday night date people because both of them worked weekends. 

Denim rolled her shoulders in an effort to stretch out the knots and found the pain traveling down behind her shoulder blades.  She took a deep breath and tried to exhale out her stress.

It didn’t work.

She’d been checking her phone on each break, hoping that he’d called or sent her a text, and she’d checked in with the day care to be sure Alli was doing okay.  Everything was quiet.  Including Mikey.  For some reason that made her uncomfortable. 

Had he reconsidered dating a widow with a kid?  She couldn’t blame him if he did.  Talk about starting something with someone complicated.  She rubbed her face and a customer cleared their throat.  She blinked, and a red-haired woman blurred into focus. 

“I’m sorry.  This register is open, right?” the redhead asked.

Denim blushed and sighed.  “Yes, yes of course.  I’m sorry.” She looked up at her lane light and realized she hadn’t even turned it on.  “I just got off a break and they pulled me up here to help out.  I’m sorry, I don’t even-” Denim reached up and flipped the switch indicating her lane was available.

“It’s okay.  I only have a few things.” The woman dropped an armful of first-aid supplies on the counter and Denim tried not to laugh.  It seemed either that was all people were buying these days or she was just noticing them more now. 

“I’m April,” the woman held out her hand, “O’Neil.  Michelangelo’s sister for lack of a better explanation.  His brother, Donatello is my boyfriend.”

Denim’s cheeks burned.  Was this woman mad because she’d been rude to her boyfriend? Because she hadn’t exactly been friendly, not that he deserved it. 

April moved to withdraw her hand, and Denim thought she was silly for not accepting it.  Awkwardly she shook the woman’s hand while chiding herself.  How upset could she be if she was offering her hand to shake?  _What is the matter with me?_

April giggled.  “It’s okay.  If you think I’m mad about Donnie, I’m not.  I told him not to go snooping around but Leo was worried, which made Donnie feel obligated.  Then he started digging and it just all went downhill from there.  I promise Donnie had good intentions,” April’s voice fell to a whisper and she leaned towards Denim, “and he only told him you were a widow with a little girl.  He didn’t tell him anything else.”

Denim released April’s thin hand, swallowed hard and wiped her palms on her khaki’s.  She’d decided she liked Michelangelo and if he wasn’t scared off by what he little he knew, then she was going to explore where dating him went.  So despite her reservations about his snoopy brother or brothers, if Leonardo was another one, she would make an effort to get to know them too.  But she wasn’t ready to talk about this.  Not this.  “It’s nice to meet you, April.  Is there anything else I can do for you?”

The redhead looked Denim over thoughtfully.  “You haven’t heard from him today, have you?”

Denim chewed on her lip.  “No.”  She wouldn’t say anymore, she wouldn’t confess her worries to a stranger and risk it getting back to Michelangelo.  He might think she was a cling-on or paranoid or… god dating was stressful!

April nodded.  “You usually hear from him every day don’t you?”

Denim’s cheeks were so hot she thought they might melt.  “Yes.  He usually sends me a good morning text, then mid-day he’ll send me a silly joke, and at lunch he usually asks how my day is going, then mid afternoon I get another joke, and by dinner we’re asking the unimportant questions.  What’s your favorite color?  What’s your favorite food?  What do you like to do?” 

Why was she telling this woman this?  It was none of her business and she’d just met her.  But she knew Michelangelo and Denim wanted to know everything about him.  Maybe, trying to befriend April was a good idea.  Maybe it would be okay to make a few friends.  Not that she’d ever been good at it.

April laughed.  “I figured that’s what he was doing.” She giggled a second more. Her eyes were shining with affection and Denim felt the slightest pang of jealousy that this beautiful woman knew him so well.  Then April became somber and leaned against the counter more.  “He got a little banged up last night, and he’s been worried all day, trying to decide if he should reschedule so you don’t see him that way, or if he should do what he really wants and go out anyway.” 

April was watching Denim’s reaction carefully.  “What should he do, Denim?  Should he be himself in every way, in all aspects of his life or should he hide out until he’s recovered then pop back up?” April straightened.  “Because he’ll do either one, whichever means he gets to see you and that you’re comfortable.”

Something about the way April said it made her point very clear in the friendliest possible way.  But Denim wasn’t going to answer her.  It wasn’t that she didn’t want Mikey to be himself, because she did.  But the fact that he was injured in any way made the whole vigilante thing suddenly very real.  What did that mean for her and Alli?   

Denim looked April in the eye.  “Thank you, April.  I’ll talk to Michelangelo.  I can see you’re worried about me hurting him as much as I’m worried about him hurting me.” Denim let out a small sigh, her tense shoulders dropping just a bit.  “Dating is exhausting, isn’t it?”

April’s eyebrows rose.  “In this family, it’s pretty crazy.  But not the stuff you’re probably worried about.  You know, whether you’re dressed just right, if you’re smacking your lips when you chew, or what he’s going to think about you if you don’t want to do something that he wants to do.  All that stuff,” she waved a dismissive hand, “is just the getting to know you phase.  What’s really stressful is worrying why he’s not calling you back, once you realize it’s not because he’s afraid of your life, but afraid for it.”

Denim closed her eyes, rubbed a hand over her face and gave April a nod.  “I understand.”

“You know, if I didn’t know what I do about you, I might think you don’t.  That you couldn’t possibly get it.  But since I know, what I do, and I won’t say anything by the way, Donnie hasn’t said anything either, but I think maybe you just might truly understand.” April shook her head.  “I don’t envy your position at all Denim, with a little girl to think of-”

“Excuse me!” A frustrated customer interrupted.  “But do I need to go another lane?”

April apologized to the customer, paid, smiled and said, “It was nice to meet you, Denim.”

Then she was gone. 

Denim finished up with her customers, checked the time and knew her shift was almost over.  She slipped off to the break room fishing her phone out of her locker.  There was still no word from Michelangelo.

She sat at a table and browsed some of the texts they’d sent throughout the week. 

Mikey: What do you call a fake noodle?

Blue Jeans: Idk.  What?

Mikey: An impasta!

Blue Jeans: LOL.  You’re silly.

Mikey: LOL.  I am pretty great, right?

Blue Jeans: I think so.

Mikey: Yeah?

Blue Jeans: Yeah.  I got go though.  Breaks over.  Later?

Mikey: For sure.

She liked that he’d taken to calling her Blue Jeans and adopted the username in her messages with him.  She liked having something personal between them, something that was theirs…

Denim put the phone on the table and slumped in her chair.  How bad was he hurt?  April talked like there was more than one occasion where she worried they weren’t coming home.

Could she go through that again?  Could she go through the uncertainty?  Would not knowing be worse than having it happen right in front of her?   What if the day came and she got ‘the call’?  And Gods the hurt, the gaping ache than never healed, never would.  Could she make it through that twice in one lifetime?  What about Alli?  What if she got attached to him?  How would he treat her?  What would losing him do to her?

There was a pull on her heart, one she was hard pressed to ignore.  Kyle had been her best friend most of her life and not having him there, and looking at Allison growing every day… Sometimes she acted so much like him.  Did she even remember him anymore?  Was moving on even right?

Denim leaned forward burying her face in her hands.  Two years.  Two years without someone to talk to, to lean on, to make her laugh… She enjoyed Michelangelo’s easy going personality, the way he made her feel.  She’d never expected to feel anything like it ever again.  She had to know, where this was going.  She tapped her phone, setting up a text.

Blue Jeans:  You okay, Mikey?

She hit send, took a deep breath and sat back, staring at the screen.  How bad was he hurt? 

She wouldn’t let herself imagine what happened.  She didn’t want to know.  She didn’t want to think about _why_ he was a vigilante ninja.  Who lived a life like that? 

She snorted.  “Damn ironic.  Just ironic.”

The screen lit up and she hesitated to look at it. 

“Maybe it’s fate or destiny, or the universes sick sense of humor.  Whatever it is I don’t do halfway so either I’m going out with you and am going to really give this a try or I’m ending it before one of us gets hurt.”  And she was talking to herself, but not for the first time in two years.  She picked up the phone.

Mikey: I’ve been better.  Sorry I haven’t text u today.  I been thinkin’ bout stuff.

“Yeah, met too,” Denim sighed. 

For the first time she seriously considered ending it, thought maybe he was too. 

That lasted about as long as it took for her to imagine never seeing him again.  The thought hurt like a punch to the gut and she could almost hear Kyle telling her…

_“We have to live while we can so if one of us is ever gone all the other has left are these awesome memories.  We’ll just make moment after moment of happiness.  A life well lived.  And even when it’s bad, it’ll still be good.”  His curly blonde locks shone in the sunlight and his big green eyes burned into her.  How she’d wished she could stop time._

_“How could bad ever be good?” she asked him._

_He smiled showing his gorgeous teeth.  “It’ll always be good, Denni.  Because I loved you.  Even if it was just for a little while.”_

Her lip trembled.  She feared that kind of hurt, living through that loss.  It never really hurt less.  It just became bearable, like a scar she lived with but never really healed right.  Battle scars.  It was something she never wanted to feel again.  But if she didn’t risk it, was she really living? 

She knew she hadn’t been. 

She’d been breathing, working, eating, sleeping… existing for Allison.  But she wasn’t even sure if she was a good mom because there were so many times when she’d zone out, remembering some incredible moment past, sure she’d never feel anything like it ever again… then there were the nightmares of her reliving _that_ day. 

She picked up the phone again. 

Blue Jeans: Are you sick or hurt?

She knew he was hurt, but her word choice served two purposes.  One it told her if he was going to be honest with her, and two it didn’t throw April under the bus. 

Mikey: A little banged up, I guess.  You uh, you wanna cancel tonight?

Denim’s heart was pounding, but she already knew what she was going to do.

Blue Jeans: No.  Not unless you need to rest.

Mikey: Really?  Cas’ I gotta tell ya I’m so bored!

Blue Jeans: Yeah.  Murakami’s again okay with you? 

Mikey: Yes!

Blue Jeans:  I have to pick up Allison from daycare, and my mom won’t be over to watch her till 6.  Does 6:30 work for you?

Her stomach was fluttering.  She wanted to push the clock forward and go right then.  Even though they only texted most days, he’d already come to feel like a constant companion and she suddenly realized she’d missed seeing him in person.  She missed those sweet blue eyes and that brilliant smile, and how optimistic he was about everything.  She needed that.  Plus she liked the way he smelled, and was kind of hoping for more hand holding… maybe even kissing.

She pressed her fingers to her lips.  Yes, kissing had been very nice. 

Her phone received another text.  She picked it up.

Mikey: 6:30 is great.  So her name is Allison?  That’s pretty.

Had she not told him her name?  Had she told him anything about her at all?  Should she? 

She sighed, staring at the phone as she considered how hard being a single parent was, and in epic ways.  Ways that left her elbow deep in diapers when Alli had been born, in ways that left her giving birth by herself, that left her trying to decide how high a fever had to be before rushing a child to the hospital and not looking like an idiot. 

And she’d had absolutely no one to ask. 

Besides her mother who swore up and down she couldn’t remember, as if she’d never had an infant before.  Denim ran her hand through her hair.  Where is the damn guidebook for life?  Where is the index so she could look up, how much to tell your new boyfriend about your child and when? 

Boyfriend.

Was he that?  Where they exclusive?

Gah.  She hated dating.  And yet… she really liked Mikey.

Blue Jeans:  Yeah, that’s her name.  Thanks.  Kyle always wanted to name a girl Allison and a boy James.  He’d already passed when she was born, so I named her Allison Kyle Sanders.  I’m sorry I’ve been so weird about her.  We can talk about her later if you want.

Mikey: I want.

Denim’s heart skipped beats.  She hoped she was making the right choices.

Blue Jeans:  Okay.  My breaks over again.  See you at 6:30.

Mikey: 6:30 J

XOXOXO

Denim stopped short by the pedestrian crossing a little ways down from Murakami’s when she saw Michelangelo waiting for her.  She didn’t know what she’d expected.  Maybe she hadn’t tried to put a visual to what he might look like beaten up.  But as their eyes met the sincere smile on his bruised face waivered, then his mouth parted and he shook his head slightly.  He probably thought she might bolt.

Her eyes drifted over him, from uncertain blue eyes, one with a nasty black ring beneath it, to the butterfly stitches on his left cheek, to his busted lip and one arm in a sling.  She inhaled deep.  Then, straightening on her exhale, she strode forward, determined to follow her instincts.  Instincts that told her he was a good person. 

It was experience that told her she couldn’t ask for details.  She couldn’t ask what his fight was about, or what his role in it was, because the less she knew the better for her.  Yet she wanted to.  Because it was in her to want to look after those she cared about and Michelangelo was quickly becoming someone she cared about.

She frowned as she approached him, looking him over, finding it looked even worse up close.  There were little abrasions all over him, and a patch on the arm that was not in a sling.  She suspected there were sutures beneath it.  She couldn’t look him in the eye up close, not at first.  She stared at his shoes as she struggled with telling herself not to ask questions that would put him in a position to deny her answers.  She knew better than that. 

“Uh, you okay?” he asked, his voice a little shaky. 

Seeing him hurt?  No.  No she wasn’t okay.  This wasn’t okay.  Part of her kept screaming, ‘what are you doing?’ and ‘who are you getting involved with?’ and ‘end this before someone gets hurt.’  But Denim was listening to the part of her that wanted to get lost in his eyes, listening to him chatter on about anything and everything, and damn it she wanted this for herself.

She pressed a hand to her mouth, biting hard on her lower lip.  What could she say to this? 

“Are you all right?” she asked, her voice soft, her eyes still on his worn sneakers.  They had to be custom she noted, his feet were big.  It was an unimportant thought, an observation, a distraction. 

“I’ll be all right if we get to eat.  I’m starving.” He answered her with sincerity, his enthusiasm muted as if bracing for her to flee.  Still knowing what she did of him he was probably genuinely hungry.

She didn’t laugh, instead reached out for the free hand of his uninjured arm and wrapped her fingers around his.  She gave him a gentle squeeze, then stepped closer to him and pressed her forehead against his orange t-shirt and inhaled deeply.  A mix of comfort, excitement and anticipation shot through her.  Then he dropped her hand and wrapped his good arm around her. 

“Does this happen to you a lot?” she whispered.

“I’m not sure how to answer that,” he replied.

Don’t ask questions.  Don’t ask questions.  She took a deep breath, straightened herself and looked him in the eye.  “Well, we came here to eat.  Let’s eat.”

“Yeah?” he seemed surprised. 

She was trembling on the inside.  She nodded.  “Yeah.”

 

 

 

 


	5. Mom

Denim hadn’t laughed this much since… she couldn’t remember when.  Her sides hurt, and twice she thought she’d either choke on her food or spit soda across the table.  Between his lame jokes and his actual good ones she was swept away by his non-stop chatter and animated expressions.  Their conversation took on an easy flow, from jokes to heroes…

“So then Spooch told Crognard about the Slug People and the Wizardess cast a spell that destroyed them all.  That’s how she saved the day.”  Michelangelo had all but come out of his seat telling this story but he wasn’t quite finished.  “But you know Crognard could’ve done it, still it was cool that she did.” He polished off his last gyoza and leaned forward, squinting as he looked her over.  “You do know who Crognard is, don’t you?”

Denim stared at him with the same expression she used to give her husband when trying to bluff him. 

The corners of Mikey’s mouth spread wider as he tried to read her.  “You do.  Come on, tell me you do.  I know you do.”

Denim busted out laughing. “Of course I do!  I’m a huge superhero fan, and that is my favorite episode.  I love it when a woman is the heroine.” 

“Yeah, hero chicks are cool.  Karai and April totally kick butt.” He agreed.

“Ninjas?” Denim asked, jabbing her fork into her noodles.

Michelangelo nodded.  “Kunoichi.  That’s a female ninja.”

Denim took a bite of her noodles, savoring the flavors and perfect texture of the pasta.  Having given up trying to be someone she wasn’t, she sucked in the end of a noodle then let out a satisfied little moan.  “Oh, my God. Not to change the subject but these are so good.  I never get tired of them.” 

She loved Murakami’s, and it was mutant friendly so next to no one seemed to even notice the two of them.  It was close to home, and the food was delicious, she could see them eating there often.

Mikey grinned.  “I know right?  Mr. Murakami has the best food.”

Denim twirled another bite around her fork then held it out for Mikey who needed no prompting, and leaned across the table meeting her halfway.

A couple walked by them, and a woman whispered to her husband.  “That is disgusting.”

If Michelangelo heard them he pretended not to, but Denim wasn’t about to let it go.  There always had to be that one asshole to ruin everything.  Well they could try.  Right as Mikey swallowed the bite and shifted to move back to his seat she grabbed the sides of his head and pressed her mouth against his.  His eyes widened in surprise then he closed them and kissed her back. 

The woman huffed and the couple went on their way.  Denim didn’t care one way or another, she was enjoying herself and she wasn’t about to let anyone ruin their evening.  Not to mention Mikey was a great kisser. 

He chuckled as he sank back into his chair.  “Did that have something to do with what that lady said?”

Denim’s fingers were over her lips, her heart pounding.  “Oh, my gosh.  I’m sorry.  That was wrong.  Yes and no.” She blushed.  “I mean, yes she irritated me, and no, I-” Her eyes darted over his bruised cheeks, the smile on his face wide despite her motivation for kissing him.  “I wanted to do that anyway, nosey bitch or not.”

Michelangelo’s eyes sparkled.  “Really?”

Denim nodded.  “Really.”

Mikey pulled out his wallet and threw some cash on the table.  “You wanna take a walk or somethin’?” He glanced at the clock behind Mr. Murakami’s hibachi grill.  “It’s early, right?  And you promised to tell me about Alli.”

It _was_ early enough and as he reached for her hand, his cool skin pressing against her warm, she was more than ready to talk about her little girl. 

Mikey called goodbye to Mr. Murakami as he pushed the door open.  They stepped out into a cool spring night, the sidewalks still bustling, the sun just having set.  A few people looked at them as they walked hand in hand, but most didn’t even notice them and fortunately no one said anything. 

“There’s a small park over here,” he said guiding her down a path she knew well.

“Yeah, I bring Alli here a lot.  They have a decent playground,” she motioned toward the swings.

“Have you lived here long?” he asked, leading her toward them then pointing for her to sit.

She sank into the curve of the seat, holding the chains in her hands, her toes dragging the dirt.  “No.  Kyle’s mom lives here.  I moved closer after he passed, so she could help me out sometimes.  But I was born in South Carolina,” Denim hesitated then whispered, “raised in the foster care system.”

It wasn’t something she advertised, and it was only a fraction of what she should probably be telling him.  But it was who she was and it was a start.  It wasn’t all bad… okay it was, until she met Kyle.

She was staring at the marks her shoes were making when suddenly the swing drew way back. 

“Hold on, Blue Jeans.” Michelangelo’s playful tone pierced her straying thoughts and in her next breath she was swaying back and forth her stomach fluttering.  When he pushed her higher she squealed and he laughed.  She thought she might fly off the swing, but as Mikey ducked under it then popped up in front of her, she had a feeling she was in good hands. 

He slowed the swing to a stop, pulling it close, standing almost in between her legs.  “So your Mom, isn’t _your_ mom?”

Denim shook her head.  “No.  It would be just me and Alli, but even after what happened…” her eyes narrowed on her shoes, “it doesn’t matter.  I don’t think she really likes me but she loves Alli and that’s what’s important.  She’s all the family Alli has and she helps me out.  I’m sure this whole,” Denim waved a hand back and forth between them, “dating thing bothers her.  I mean, I was best friends with her son for most of our lives and he’s gone and it’s my fault, and now I’m trying to move on.”

Michelangelo was staring at her. 

She found his quiet unsettling. Her gaze flittered up to him. 

“What about Alli?  How old is she?” he asked.

She smiled, grateful he didn’t dig deeper, that he was shifting the topic and didn’t question what she’d told him.  What she’d let slip.  She was kind of putting herself out there.  But at the same time she would’ve shut down if he asked, because it was her fault.  Kyle was gone and it was because of her. 

“Blue Jeans?” Mikey nudged her leg with his knee. 

She looked at him. 

He raised his eye ridges.  “Alli?”

Denim shook her head.  “Oh, sorry.  She’s two.  I kept trying to make sure she knew who Kyle was to her, since she never got to meet him.  But,” she rubbed her face, her brow gathering into a knot.  “I kind of stopped a while back and I’m not sure she knows who he was anymore.  I just, it didn’t seem healthy.  She’s too little to really understand.” 

She sighed and Michelangelo gave her another playful nudge.  “Does she like pizza?”

Denim laughed.  “Is that all you think about?”

Mikey grinned.  “Well, that and-” he hesitated a half second then pulled the swing closer as he leaned into her.  His cool breath sent a shiver throughout her then his lips brushed her ear.  “You.”

She inhaled him, brushed her cheek against his and nuzzled him.  He let the swing go, and snaked his one good arm around her, lifting her from the swing.  Then with a tip of his head their mouths were together again.  She liked kissing him, she liked that it was different, that his mouth was so wide she had to work from one side to the other but couldn’t get enough of the taste and feel of him.  She loved how he reached for her, kissed her like he meant it, and looked at her… in a way she thought no one ever would again.

She broke away from him but grabbed his good hand quickly so he didn’t take it the wrong way.  “I’m sorry I keep talking about him.  It doesn’t mean I’m not totally into you,” she felt her cheeks heat even as she stepped close to him again, “because I am…totally into you I mean… in fact,” her heart was pounding as she stretched on tip toe and he looked down at her with that sweet smile on his face, “Michelangelo, do you want to go back to my place and meet Alli?”

The corners of his mouth reached for his eyes.  “Shell yeah!”  Energy radiated off him like he’d been shocked.  He tugged at her hand as he looked around.  “Should I pretend I don’t know where you live so I don’t seem creeptastic again?”

Denim shook her head.  “You are the sweetest creep I’ve ever met.  No.  I give up.  Please lead the way.”

As they got farther and farther from the park Michelangelo began walking closer and closer to her, his head in a constant motion of looking at her, then up toward rooftops then sweeping the streets.  She watched him in her periphery, this constant sweep of passersby, a bum on the street, a prostitute on the corner, her pimp in the alley.

He lowered his mouth to her ear and whispered, “You do know you don’t live in a nice neighborhood, right?”

Denim snorted.  “Yeah, well it’s all a single mom working retail in New York can afford.  Besides,” she smirked, “I can take care of myself.”  She could.  She carried insurance.  “We’re here,” she announced stopping in front of a run-down tenement. 

“I know, remember?” he grinned at first then saw the blank expression on her face and let out a nervous chuckle. “Er, right, creepy.”

“Come on,” she guided him inside and up three flights of stairs, stopping at the first apartment on the right.  She slid a key into the lock and stuck her head inside.  “Hi Mom,” she said, opening the door and pulling Michelangelo inside with her.

Denim’s mother-in-law near dropped a mug as she came from the kitchen.  “A mutant,” she gasped.   Her eyes shifted from Michelangelo to Denim and back.  “You didn’t say you were dating a mutant.  A mutant, Denim?” 

“Mom, this is Michelangelo.  Mikey this is my mother-in-law Constance Sanders,” Denim introduced them, but didn’t let go of Mikey’s hand so he couldn’t offer it to Connie so instead he smiled and greeted her.

“Hello, Mrs. Sanders.”

Constance nostrils flared, her mug trembling in her hands.  She glared at Denim.  “Allison is sleeping.  Do you mean to start bringing mutants home?  Are you going to go that route, Denim?  Because it isn’t healthy to have strangers floating in and out of her life.”  She crossed the room, visibly shaking as she got in Denim’s face.  “I won’t babysit so that you can whore around with a mutant.” She scowled at Michelangelo then turned on Denim again.  “If I don’t like how this goes I will take whatever action is necessary to protect Allison.”

Mikey squeezed Denim’s hand, stepping so close behind her his shirt pressed into her back. 

 Denim forced a thin smile to her face, even as tears stung her eyes.  Connie’s words hurt like a slap to the face, but Denim was ready to take it from her.  She deserved it.  “I’m sorry to hear that,” Denim said in a controlled voice.  “Thank you for watching Alli tonight.  I’m sure she had a wonderful time.” 

Constance set her mug on the coffee table then snatched her purse up from the couch.  “Well I won’t be helping you anymore, not until you stop seeing, _him_.”  She stopped at the door and took a shuddering breath then looked at Denim.  “How can you do this to Kyle, to his memory?”

Tears burned Denim’s eyes.  “I can do this because Kyle loved life, Connie.  He loved the idea of two beings caring for each other unconditionally.  He died believing in that dream and I,” Denim took a deep breath, hoping that none of this would scare Mikey off, “I want a chance to feel alive again, and to maybe, just maybe have something like that twice in a lifetime with anyone.  I’m sorry, but I won’t pass that up.”

Constance jaw shifted.  “He’d still be here, if the two of you didn’t have a martyr’s dreams.” She pinned Michelangelo in her sights.  “And I hope the likes of you are grateful.”  Then she left slamming the door behind her.

Michelangelo tugged his hand free of hers.  “Did you know she was going to do that?”

Denim sighed. 

“Did you just use me to piss her off?”  There was a note of disbelief to his voice that had her questioning herself.  She tried to replay the scene through her head.  In truth she hadn’t been thinking about Connie, she’d been thinking about herself, Allie and Michelangelo. 

“No, Mikey, I mean, yes,” Denim turned to face him, found a deep frown etched on his bruised face.  “I know she has a problem with mutants.  But-”

Michelangelo held up a hand and took a step back.  “I- I should go.  I-” He blinked, looking her over, seeming confused.  “Yeah, I’m, I need to… think, about this.”  He stepped around her, reaching for the doorknob. 

Denim felt gutted.  This wasn’t what she’d expected, wasn’t what she planned, and not what she wanted. “Mikey,” she whispered his name but didn’t know what to say, didn’t know what he was thinking or how this looked to him.

He glanced at her in his periphery, frowned, looked away then was gone.


	6. What Are You Doing?

Denim couldn’t eat.  She couldn’t sleep.  Her head was pounding and her stomach in knots.  Three days had gone by and she hadn’t heard anything from either Michelangelo or Constance.  She’d sent each of them one text.  She apologized to Michelangelo and asked Connie if they could have lunch and talk about it. 

Neither had replied to her.

She reached for her box cutter then a carton of protein bars.  As she stocked the shelf she replayed that night for the hundredth time.  What had she been thinking?  She knew Connie had shifted her blame from Denim to mutants for Kyle’s death.  What had she expected?  Why hadn’t she waited to introduce Mikey to Alli after picking her up from daycare instead of on a night when Connie was babysitting?  But then she wasn’t going to sneak around with Michelangelo.  She wasn’t going to lie and be deceitful. 

She was proud to be out with him, and didn’t care what he was.  She was crazy about who he was, and no one was going to get in the way of that.  Not once she’d committed herself to finding out what there was between them and where it wanted to go…

Except… It seemed that Michelangelo didn’t feel the same way.

She reached into the carton for the next box but found it empty.  “Just like me,” she grumbled. 

She wasn’t sure if she should bother him anymore or just leave him alone, but she sure wished they’d at least talked about what happened and how it made them both feel.  But he’d bolted on her. 

“So, you gonna just let him go like that?” An accusatory, gruff voice startled her and she jumped. 

She turned around and backed into the shelf, knocking half the product off onto the floor.  A massive turtle stood in the aisle, his arms crossed as he scowled at her.  He watched her fumble and drop her box cutter then bend over to pick it up but whack her head on the stock cart in the process.

He snorted.  “For fucks sake, you’re no better than him.”

“W-w-what?” Denim stammered, rubbing her head as she stood up face him.  It really hurt.  It was on her left side, her bad side.    

The hulking turtle rolled his eyes.  “Aren’t you gonna call him or somethin’?  You just gonna hurt him and let it go like that?” He scoffed.  “Damn humans. I tried to tell him.”

Denim’s mouth opened and closed, her fingers curling over her box cutter.  “Excuse me,” she snapped taking a step toward him and waving the tool around like a pointer, “but who the hell are you?  And what are you talking about?”

He took two steps towards her, snatching the box cutter and throwing it to the ground before grabbing her wrist and guiding her firmly against the shelf behind her.  He leaned forward, looked her in the eye.  “I’m Raphael.  Michelangelo’s brother.  Don’t act like you don’t know what I’m talking about.  How many mutant turtles do you see walking around here?  Huh?  And I know you remember me from the day you helped him.”  The turtle shook his head.  “I hoped you might be different, but no.  You’re all the same ain’t ya?”

Raphael.  Raphael.  Had Mikey mentioned him?  She remembered him now, he was the red-masked one that was cursing everyone within a mile of him the day Mikey was hurt. 

She scowled at him.  “You know what? I’ve been seeing a lot of turtles around here these days.  And if I know anything at all, it’s not to make assumptions about anyone.” She squinted.  “Especially when I don’t know the whole story, because from what I hear there’s always two sides.”

Raphael stared at her a few seconds then released her wrist and stood up. 

“Is everything okay here, Denim?” Keith Lowry asked, marching into the aisle with his hand on his taser. 

Raphael let out a low complaining noise and Denim looked from him to Keith.

“I’m fine, Keith.  I just bumped into some stuff and Raphael here was helping me pick it up.” She looked at Raph. “Weren’t you?”

His jaw worked as he bent over and picked up a handful of boxes, handing them to her.

Keith’s eyes darted between them then he pointed a finger at Raphael.  “I’m watching you.”

Raphael glared at him as Keith backed up then walked away.  “You should be,” Raph grumbled. “Dumbass would never know what hit’em.”

Denim popped a hand on her hip and cleared her throat.

“What?” Raph snapped.

Denim shook her head. “What are you here for?  I’d think you know where the first aid aisle is by now.”

“You know what,” Raphael waved a box of protein bars at her, looked at them then threw them in her stock cart.  “You got a mouth on you.”

Denim snorted.  “You seem like one to talk.  Why don’t you just tell me what you want?”

He made a face.  “Just talk to him, okay.  This moping around shit is getting on my last nerve.”

“What?  What do you mean?” Denim took a step toward him and Raphael squared his shoulders as he looked her up and down.

“You’ve got guts too.  Great.  That’s just great.” He shifted his weight and shook his head. 

“Oh my god, if you don’t get to the damn point I am going to lose my shit.” She waved her hand at him.  “Are you talking about Michelangelo?”

“You’re about as daft as him, too.” Raphael waved a hand back at her.

“Raph?” A smooth voice called from behind him. 

They both looked. 

Seriously, another one!  How many brothers did Mikey say he had? 

This turtle was about a half-inch shorter than Raphael and while every bit as fit he didn’t have the bulk of the turtle standing beside her.  But his eyes, those blue eyes were like Mikey’s only darker.  He looked at her with an expressionless face then his gaze shifted to Raphael.

“What are you doing?  Michelangelo can handle this himself.”  The turtle motioned down the aisle with his head.  “Come on.  Let’s go.  Donnie got what we came for, and April’s ready to check out.”

There were three of them in the store, plus April.  Was Michelangelo with them?  Her stomach flipped. 

“I just wanted to know why she did it,” Raphael said, not moving.

“You don’t know what happened, Raph.  You weren’t there.  We need to stay out of it.  Before-”

“What are you guys doing?” A beautiful Japanese woman appeared at the end of the aisle. “April’s waiting to check out, Donnie ran back to electronics for something else, and I’ve searched toys, I still can’t find Mikey.”  She waved a hand at the two turtles then her gaze shifted to Denim.  She strolled down the aisle, looking her over.  Then her honey brown eyes settled on Denim’s head wound.  “This her?”

“Yep,” Raphael replied.

“Karai,” the other turtle said in a warning tone.

The woman scoffed but didn’t take her eyes off Denim.  “Relax, Leo.  I’m not gonna do anything.”

“What are you guys doing?” someone else called.  Denim recognized April’s voice.  “Give the girl some space before you terrify her.”

Denim looked Karai in the eye.  “I’m not scared.”

Karai grinned.  “You should be.”

“That’s enough.” The one she’d called Leo, put a hand on Karai’s arm and pulled her to his side. 

Raphael’s eyes flickered with something Denim could not place.  He looked at her head again and she felt something warm trickle down the side of her face. 

“Jesus, what did you guys do?  Mikey is going to be ticked!”  April pushed by Raphael, her eyes growing wide as she looked at Denim. 

Donatello appeared at the end of the aisle and Denim wondered how many members of Michelangelo’s family planned to come into her store and corner her while she was trying to work.  

Donatello was looking at something in his hand, jabbering as he approached them.  “I found the flash drives I was looking for but they don’t have motherboards here, I’m going to have to- ack!  What did you do to her, Raph?!”

Denim, April and Karai sighed at the same time then looked at each other.  April smiled while Karai seemed to be sizing her up again.

“Nothin’.  I didn’t touch her.  She hit her head on the-”

“WHAT are you guys doing?” Michelangelo shrieked from behind Donatello.  Everyone looked in his direction.  His mouth was set in a thin angry line, his blue eyes blazing as he marched up to his family.  There was something pink and fluffy clutched in one hand and it seemed as misplaced as his anger.  He looked Raphael in the eye.  “What, are, you, doing?”

Raphael just stared at him. 

Michelangelo’s gaze travelled to Leo.  “Seriously?  What the hell, Leo?”

“It’s not what it looks like, Mikey.” Leo tried to explain but the glowering expression on Michelangelo’s face stopped him.

“I think it’s time to check out,” April suggested.

“Yeah it is,” Michelangelo agreed not taking his eyes off his brothers. 

One by one they left as quickly and quietly as they came until it was only her and Mikey left in the aisle.  There was a deep scowl on his face as if remnants of his anger lingered.  He said nothing as he looked her over, his eyes stopping on the bump on her head. 

“You’re bleeding.” His voice was low, hints of his frustration sticking to him like an irritating insect.

She lifted her hand to her head, wincing as pain shot through the side of her face.  Her fingers were sticky with blood, but it didn’t look to be too much.

“Come on,” he said, putting the pink, fluffy object on the shelf above her head.  “Let’s get you patched up.”

Denim blinked, her feet planted firmly as she looked him over.  Aside from his anger, something was different about him.  The bruises were gone she realized, and his arm was out of the sling.  “You’ve healed already?” she said, and her voice sounded distant like she was outside of herself.

“Mutants heal fast,” he bent his knees, so he was eye level with her, his blues darting back and forth between hers.  “How hard did you hit your head?”  He reached for her hand but she tugged it away and he looked at her.  “I just want to make sure you’re okay.”

“Don’t bother.  I’m fine.  I bumped it on the cart.  It’s no big deal.  Really.  I’ll take care of it myself.  You can go.  I’m sure your family is waiting.”  Why was she sending him away?  Why?  She was glad to see him.  She wanted to talk about what happened, to hear what he had to say, how he felt, to have the chance to explain.  But maybe she envied him having a family to rally around him.  Maybe she was jealous, and maybe she was hurt that he’d bailed on her.

His eye ridges lifted and his hand moved toward her bicep.  “You’re not fine, Blue Jeans.  You’re swayin’ like a tree branch.”

There was her Mikey those blue eyes sparkling, half-amused half-filled with concern.  He sounded so far away though.  Like he was in a tunnel, calling to her from the other end… maybe she should’ve eaten breakfast, or lunch, or dinner last night… she blinked and the floor seemed to rush towards her face.

 


	7. It's Not A Cat

Her head was pounding.  Denim moved a hand toward her face and felt something tugging in her arm, pain shot through it and Michelangelo’s voice hit her ears like a sweet song.  “IV… don’t keep… you’ll… pull it…. just… still.”

She squinted at first, glad to find the room was dark.  She was in a hospital bed with Michelangelo to her left, Constance her right and Allison sitting criss-cross applesauce by her feet, clutching a pink turtle to her chest.

Alli grinned, her baby teeth flashing beneath her little lips.  Denim was so glad to see her mini-me, with her curly red pigtails and big blue eyes.  “Hi, Mommy!” she near screamed with joy and Denim flinched as the sound hit her ears.  If only her mini-me understood volume control.

“Shh, Alli.  Mommy has one of her headache’s remember?” Constance stood up, frowned at Denim then glanced at Michelangelo and gave him a look.  “I’ll go tell the nurse she’s awake.”

Michelangelo nodded.  Denim considered it progress that they could be in the same room together.  Connie was still being nasty, and yet Mikey being the exemplary creature he was, rose above her sneer and said nothing at all.  Denim had as much respect for him right then, as the woman who had lost her son because of her and yet still forgiven her for it.  It took a lot of self control to sit in a room with someone who berated what you were and in Denim’s eyes it did not go unnoticed.

Connie left and Alli held up her turtle.  “Mikey gave me her, isn’t she bootiful?  I call her Bootiful,” Alli made a face, “no, no, that’s not it.  I call her… I call her… Pink Turtle.  No, no, that’s not it… I call her Cozy Cat.”

“But she’s not a cat,” Denim said, gingerly lifting her hand to her face. 

“I’m good at naming stuff,” Mikey offered.  “You should call her Pink Cat, yeah, no, no that’s not it,” he made a face, “how about Candy Cat, or Cute Cat, orrr, Happy Cat?”  He shook his head, and Denim felt her cheeks ache for the smile on her face. 

“Still not a cat,” she murmured.

Allison looked at Mikey with wide eyes, waiting to see what name he would come up with next.

“No, no that’s not it either…” he looked at the pink turtle, to the little girl holding it, then took a deep breath and set his gaze on Denim.  “We should call her Hope.  Cos’ Allie, I sure hope your mom will forgive me for running off the other night.”

Denim stared at him, would’ve planted her mouth against his if her daughter wasn’t sitting right there.  Shit, she still just might.

“I see you’ve met,” Denim whispered, her eyes never leaving his.

“Mhm, she’s pretty great.  We speak the same language.  How ya feelin’?” he stared into her, eyes so deep she felt like she was falling through a spring sky and not worried about ever landing.

“Better.  I guess they told you?” Her heart sputtered and jerked, how long would he look at her like that? 

“They don’t tell mutants anything.  I just listened.  So there’s a plate in your melon there, huh?” he didn’t look away and she couldn’t stand it anymore, her feet were rubbing together beneath Alli and she was biting her lip desperate to keep from grabbing him by the face.

“Old injury.  Should be fine.  Not supposed to bump my head,” she murmured, sitting more upright, feeling an ache in the back of her head. 

His eyes drifted to her mouth and they moved closer. 

“I’m sorry,” he whispered.

Her stomach dipped, he was so close she could feel him now, her lips tingled.  “Sorry for what?”

“Bailing.” His breath reached her lips and she could almost taste him.

“Don’t do it again.” Her voice was a barely audible sound.

“No.  You either.” He touched her cheek.

“No.” She leaned into his palm, closed her eyes and opened them again.

“You want me to kiss you or what?” he asked then pressed his lips to hers, talking but not kissing her.  She loved how she could feel him smiling.

“Yes. Please do,” she begged then swept her mouth over his. 

“Gross you’re kissing!” Allison protested. 

Mikey shifted as if he’d pull away but Denim grabbed the sides of his face, kissing him again before letting him go.  With every passing moment she spent with him, letting him go again was getting harder to do. 

XOXOXOX

It was another day before she was released from the hospital.  Michelangelo had excused himself to return to work, but Denim knew his schedule and suspected he was just yielding to Connie.  And Connie for once said nothing about him, instead asked questions about whether or not Denim felt well enough to look after Alli. 

What bothered Denim was that it took more convincing than it had with other hospital stays.  There hadn’t been that many, usually following a bump on the head or a migraine but she’d never had to keep assuring her like this before.  Denim noted the odd behavior, knew it was probably more about her seeing Mikey than anything and filed it away.

“Mommy,” Alli said, while bouncing on the couch, “Are you and Mikey getting married?”

Denim was picking up toys, contemplating her mother in laws behavior, her mind slipping into how to get Connie to accept Mikey.  Her daughters question jolted her back to reality. 

“What?” Her head whipped up and around to look at Allison and she tried to school her face into a less shocked expression.  Alli was only two after all.  She wanted to marry her daycare teacher because he gave her fruit snacks.  “Not anytime soon, and stop bouncing on my couch.  You should come help me pick up these toys.”

“Why?” Alli asked leaping from one end of the couch to the other.

“Well because you might hurt my couch,” Denim grumbled tossing an armful of blocks into a box. “Do you have seven hundred dollars for a new couch?”

“No.  I mean why aren’t you getting married?  I like Mikey,” Allie leapt from the couch to the coffee table then did it again and Denim stood up, turned and caught her midflight.

“We just started seeing each other, Honey.  Things may or may not work out, but something tells me no matter what happens he’ll always be our friend.”  Denim put Alli on the floor and the toddler climbed back on the couch, resuming her bouncing.

“Alli, please,” Denim groaned.

“I hope you marry him.  I want a Daddy and he brought me Pink Cupcake Turtle Kitty and we played games while you were sleeping in the hopsital.”

“You mean hospital.  Alli, you know that’s not a cat right?”  Denim pointed to the pink stuffed turtle.

“Yeah, but so what?”  Alli grabbed her turtle then bounced while throwing it in the air.

Denim sighed as she finished up with the blocks and started on little plastic horses.  “Please stop bounci-” a fluffy pink turtle hit her in the face and Alli giggled. 

Denim picked the turtle up from the floor and glared at her.  “Young lady, get off my couch.  And let’s go, bath tub right now.  Mommy is going out.”

“With, Mikey?” Alli asked.

Denim couldn’t tell Alli everything because she’d told Connie she was going back into work another shift.  It was bad enough she was lying to her Mom, she didn’t need to lie to her daughter too, and she didn’t need her daughter outing her on accident.  She could take Alli with them, Mikey would probably love that, but it wasn’t him she was worried about.  No.  She’d let the world get used to her and Mikey a while longer before adding her daughter to the public mix.  Denim opted to ignore Allison’s question, instead reaching inside the linen closet for some bath towels…

XOXOXOX

“You’re sure, Murakami’s is okay?  It’s like our third time here.” Mikey held the door open for her, asking not for the first time if their dinner choice was acceptable.

Denim pointed to a table in the far corner, a mischievous smile toying at the corners of her lips.  “We’ll just have to order something besides pizza gyoza.  That will give us variety.” 

She glanced at Michelangelo whose mouth hung open then snapped shut then opened again, his eyes wide.  “You can’t possibly mean that.”

Denim kept a straight face, though it wasn’t easy.  “No, no, I’m serious.  We have to order something else tonight.  Maybe sushi or noodles or-”

“Don’t do this to me, Blue Jeans, please,” he whined, sinking into his chair and staring at the menu. “I must have gyoza, I must, must, must-”

Denim laughed.  “Don’t worry.  I’m teasing.  I called ahead and told Mr. Murakami we were coming.”

Mr. Murakami smiled as he approached them with a heaping plate of gyoza.  “Hello to my favorite customers.  Enjoy.”

The two greeted him then he returned to his hibachi.

“So,” Denim said picking up a gyoza with her fingers while Mikey snatched two up in his chopsticks.  “How was your day?”

She watched him chew, his eyes closed, yet rolling back in his head when his eyelids cracked open.  She never thought she’d smiled so much as to watch Michelangelo eat, and listen to him talk. 

“I delivered pizza. I ate pizza. I ate a pizza I dropped… then I dropped another pizza so I could eat it-”

“Mikey that’s gross!” Denim giggled.  “You can’t be serious.”

He looked at her with a blank expression.  “Of course I’m serious, Blue Jeans.  One cannot waste good pizza.”

Denim stared at him.  “You are amazing, you know that?”

Mikey grinned. “I know, right, the best pizza eater in the world.”

Denim shook her head.  “No, Michelangelo it’s just you, you’re so passionate about everything, sincere, and honest, you’re just totally refreshing.”

“Aw, thanks, Blue Jeans.” He popped two more gyoza in his mouth.  “How was your day?”

 _How was your day?_   How long had it been since anyone asked her that?  Had Kyle ever asked her that?  She took a bite of a dumpling and thought about her day.  “I worked this morning. That was boring.  Well, except Keith, the security guard kept hanging around asking weird questions.  But once that was over it went pretty smooth.  Alli was really good for the most part.  We had some trouble picking up our toys, but nothing out of the ordinary.”

Mikey tried to fit four gyoza in his mouth, mumbling with it packed full.  “Bwab bind bof buestions?”

Denim made a face.  “Huh?”

Mikey chewed twice then swallowed.  “What kind of questions?”

What had Keith been asking her?  She thought of his creepy mustache, his beer belly, and onion breath.  He’d been too close if she could smell his breath.  There was something about what he was saying that made her feel uneasy.  “I don’t know.  I’d only been half listening.  He was on some anti-mutant rant and I can’t listen to that crap so I tuned him out after a few minutes.  I get so sick of hearing people.”  She frowned and Mikey rolled a dumpling toward her with his chopsticks.

It slid onto her plate and she looked at the sweet upturn of his mouth, wondered how anyone could have such hate for someone so damn kind.  All because of how they looked.  Those idiots were without.  But she, she was in good company. 

She tried to pick the dumpling up with her fingers but he blocked her with his chopsticks.  How did he get so good with those things?  He used them like fingers, blocking her each time she reached for a dumpling, the smile on his face growing wider by the second.

“Mikey, what are you doing?” she laughed after her third blocked attempt.  “You put it on my plate, but you’re not going to let me eat it?”

“You,” he squinted his eyes and mocked a Japanese accent, “must use chopsticks, Blue Jean-san.”

“You are a mess,” she giggled. 

He reached across the table and put the sticks in her hands, positioning them for her.  “Remember this stick stays-”

“Still,” she nodded then attempted to use them, but failed and after her third try he jabbed the dumpling with one stick and held it up for her.

“You need lots of practice,” he grinned.

She leaned forward and took a bite, wiping sauce from her lip and telling him, “You finish it.  I’m full.”

“Thasss disssgustin’.  See they’re trying to steal our women nowwww too.  See that, Joe?  That there mutantsss tryin’ tryin’ ta screw a human.  Come on Joe, I’m goin’ over therr mmm’ gonna putta stop ta this shit,” a large, drunk man yelled from the bar area.  He motioned to his friend and the two walked over to Michelangelo and Denim. 

Denim’s hand slid under the table, coming to rest on her hip.  At some point she knew this might be an issue.  She just hadn’t expected it to happen so soon.  Right then she was glad she’d come prepared.

The man leaned forward, pointing his beer bottle toward her.  “Was’ a pretty lil thing like you doin’ with a nasty thing like that?” He motioned to Michelangelo without looking at him.

Shocked, Denim’s mouth popped open then snapped shut.  She straightened in her chair and glared at the man.  She was about to tell him where he could go when Michelangelo spoke up.

“Dude, we’re having dinner.  We aren’t bothering anyone and we don’t want any trouble.”

The drunk snorted.  Then everything happened in fractions of seconds.  He broke his beer bottle on the edge of their table sending glass and beer flying everywhere.  Denim turned her head away, beer soaking her clothes and glass cutting her exposed skin. 

Her heart slowed despite the adrenaline coursing through her.  She wrapped her fingers around her nine millimeter then pulled it, aiming her weapon at the drunk’s temple at the same time he pointed the jagged edge of the bottle at Mikey’s throat.  In her periphery Michelangelo’s mouth fell open then closed just as quick, his gaze shifting from her to their attacker. 

Denim gave the drunk’s companion a warning glance then looked at their attacker again.  “I haven’t shot a man in two years.  Do either of you want to be the one who breaks my dry spell?”

The drunk tried to be still but his hands were shaky.  “Nah, nah, lady,” he dropped the beer bottle then put his hands up.  “What your doin’ is a crime against humanity but I ain’t willin’ ta die over it.  You go ahead and screw this _thing_.”

Denim’s hands held steady, her breaths well practiced smooth inhales and exhales.  Her eyes shifted to the drunk’s wingman then back.  He took a step back, hands up.  But the second she lowered her weapon the drunk took a swipe at Michelangelo. 

Mikey blocked him, popping up in his chair at the same time driving his foot into the guy’s chest, launching him across the room.  The drunk’s friend lunged at Denim.  She ducked under him, got in close and drove her knee into his groin.  As he crumbled forward she jumped up, smashing the butt of her weapon into the side of the man’s face.  He stumbled back before falling on his butt, while the first drunk was getting to his feet. 

Michelangelo grabbed her hand and called to the restaurant owner, “Sorry Mr. Murakami, gotta go!”  Then he glanced at Denim as he led her from the restaurant.  “Lucy, you got some serious esplain’in to do!”

 


	8. Heat

Michelangelo kept her moving at breakneck pace until he stopped outside an apartment building not far from hers.  She looked around her, and was a little confused as to how he felt his neighborhood was any better than hers.

“This is my stop,” he announced.  “You wanna come inside and tell me what happened back there?”

Denim tugged on a strand of hair but didn’t answer him.  Where did she begin?  She didn’t see this coming up anytime soon, but things were moving so fast both between them and around them. 

He was staring at her. 

If he was rocked by what just happened it didn’t show.  He wasn’t breathing hard from the half-sprint that got them there, he wasn’t even shaking.  He was just looking at her.

“So I carry a gun,” she shrugged. 

As it turned out she wasn’t anymore distraught than he was.  But she knew why.  Years of practice.  The second her fingers wrapped around that steel she became a soldier again, but she’d been holding a gun for most of her life.

Seeing him responding the way he was, she was starting to think this wasn’t that unusual for him.  That the whole vigilante business was just a name for a war on the home front.  One that was none too different than the actual war she’d fought on the same land out in the open.

It seemed that only one form of the battle had ended.  Mutants _were_ technically liberated, granted citizenships and rights.  But it was becoming increasingly clear to her that that was just legal formalities.  The minds of the people would take much longer to change. 

“You just pulled a gun on that guy.” He waved a hand at her, frowning.  “You aimed it at his dome, and you messed up the other one too.  And you look like Leo after a fight with Karai… like it’s your normal or something.”  He leaned over, put his face in hers. 

Her gaze shifted from the sidewalk to his then away again.

“He had something sharp aimed at your throat,” she whispered.  “That’s self defense.”

“You look like you know what you’re doing with that gun.  And by the way,” he put a finger under her chin and she looked at him.  “Guns are no bueno.”

Denim frowned.  “And why not?  Self. Defense.”

Michelangelo shook his head.  “I had it.”

Denim snorted.  “Yes you did.”

He opened his mouth to counter but both of their phones rang at the same time.

“Hang on a sec,” they said in unison.

Denim glanced at the time as she answered her phone and knew Connie was going to let her have it, she was supposed to be working late.  Denim sighed.  What was she doing?  Now she was lying so she could see him?  Her teeth ground together.  She shouldn’t have to.  Why did people care so damn much about who she was seeing?  It was none of their business. 

“Where are you?  Are you all right?  You lied to me Denim, you said you were working late.  I saw the video on the news.  Are you hurt?  Did _it_ hurt you?” 

Denim stared at her phone.  What was she talking about the news?  What news? 

“Denim, answer me!  Tell me you are all right-” Constance continued rambling and Denim glanced at Michelangelo who was staring at his phone too.  It was on speaker and she could hear Donatello’s voice.

“Leo is having a fit.  We need to meet up.  Do not go home in case you’re being followed.  You’ll have to turn yourself in.  This is bad, Mikey.  Very, very bad.”

“I’ve got to call you back, Mom,” Denim said then disconnected the call.

“Dude, chill there were no cops there when we left,” Michelangelo was saying.

“No, Mikey.  They called the police _after_ you left.  Someone took a video of you kicking the guy in the chest and Denim knocking a guy out with a gun.  It’s all over the news.  A gun, Michelangelo.  Now the police are looking for the both of you.  Do you know what happens to mutants in prison, Mikey?  Leo is freaking out.  He’s trying to keep Master Splinter from watching TV and-”

There were sounds of a struggle then Raphael yelled into the phone,  “What, did you forget to frisk your girlfriend, Mikey?  How do you pick the one girl who walks around packing heat?  Huh?  Are you gifted?”

She heard another voice, one with a subtle edge to it but with definite authority. “Give me the phone, Raph.  Just, give it to me.  Give. It. To. Me.” There were sounds of pushing and growling then Leo was on.  “Meet us on the rooftop at the corner of Eastman and Laird in ten minutes.  And bring your girlfriend.”

The line was disconnected and Michelangelo looked at Denim.  “A gun.  Do you _always_ carry a gun?” He frowned.  “Why do I have the feeling you aren’t telling me everything about you?” 

Denim rolled her eyes.  “Typical.  That’s just typical.”

Michelangelo was cradling his arm she noticed, blood was trickling down over his fingers and he held it gingerly.  He didn’t say a word to her comments, instead raised his eye ridges and waited.

She sighed.  “Fine.  I don’t know why you get to go around getting in fights at night and I can’t carry a gun.  That’s not fair.” She glared at him, trying to stay mad while being worried about whatever happened after they left Murakami’s. But she also wanted to tend to his arm, and at the same time she felt like punching him for looking so disappointed in her.  “It’s not like I’m not trained to use it.”

“No.  _You_ definitely look like you know what you’re doing with it.  That’s,” he shifted his weight, let go of his bad arm and waved a hand at her then winced, ground his teeth and cradled the wounded arm again.  “That’s what worries me.”

Denim let out an ironic laugh.  “Please, are you serious?  Do you hear yourself right now?  My knowing how to use a gun, worries, you?”  She shook her head, took a deep breath and marched up to him, looking over the multiple cuts he’d sustained from the flying glass. 

She reached up to examine a cut on his cheek and he dodged her then stepped back. 

“What?  What is the problem, Michelangelo?” she snapped. 

His eyes widened.  “Why are you carrying a gun, Denim?”

Her jaw clenched.

“Were you going to use it on me?  Huh?” he whispered, never taking his eyes off her.

Denim flinched then her hand balled into a fist.  She stepped toward him again.  “First of all, do you watch the news? As if knowing what’s going on out there is not motivation enough?  Huh, do you?  Wait, wait,” she held up a hand, “you fight crime at night so clearly you _do_ watch the news.  Oh! Oh! Wait _your_ family watches the news so closely that you just got a news update from them.” She pointed a finger at his face.  “I knew.  I knew we would get comments from assholes while we are out together, and I knew someday someone would try to start something.  So I thought I’d be prepared.” She snorted.  “Use it on you, of all things.  I thought you trusted me.” She glared at him. “I used it to protect us.” 

“I can protect us,” he replied the expression on his face unsettling her.

She looked him over, squinting as she circled him.  “You mean to tell me right now that you, a _vigilante_ , someone who gets attacked on the regular, aren’t carrying a single weapon right now?”

Michelangelo blinked.  “I carry a pair of chucks, a few shuriken, and smoke pellets for emergencies.”

Denim scoffed.  “Well aren’t you just being a hypocrite?”

“It’s different,” he said in a low, cool voice.  “I choose how bad I hurt someone.  I control that.  Me.  I’m not out to kill people.”

“Nobody said I had to shoot to kill, Michelangelo,” she countered, stopping in front of him, wanting to pick out the tiny shard of glass catching the light, jutting out of the cut on his cheek.

He leaned over, looked her in the eye, and though she felt his cool breath on her cheek she thought he’d never seemed so far away.  “You had it to his head, and you said you had done it before.”

“I was in a war, Michelangelo.  And if it meant his life or yours, he’d be dead right now.  If it were the other way around, let’s say you had the jump on him first and the bottle had been at my throat would you handle it differently?” 

Their eyes were locked. 

He didn’t answer. 

His jaw worked, and his phone started ringing again.  Hers had never stopped.  Denim lifted her fingers for his cheek again. 

He didn’t move.

“Something tells me we’re not that different you and me, Mikey,” she whispered reaching for his face.

He watched as she picked the shard of glass from his cheek. 

“I just,” he let out a little whine, “I thought you were a nice, normal girl, and-”

Denim’s fingers stopped moving, and despite the fact that she didn’t know how he felt about her right then, she smiled.  “Now you know exactly how I feel.  Well, felt about the whole vigilante thing.  I thought you were a nice normal mutant.”

She couldn’t read him, but he moved closer, then his gaze travelled to her mouth.  “What are the chances?”

Her lips ached to feel the pressure of his, like a butterflies wings, impossibly light and tender for a creature of his size and strength.  The sweet taste of him, the scent of him… it overwhelmed her.

But he didn’t kiss her, and her heart sank, fear taking root in hopes place.  At first it had been her that had to decide if she could handle his night life, but now…

“Who are you?” he murmured, his lips painfully close.

“It’s complicated, Mikey.  Just like your vigilante-” she motioned a hand at him but they were so close, his face so close to hers, their mouths met.  She wasn’t sure if she kissed him or if he kissed her but it was different than before, as if he were open, a barrier had been removed one that held her at a safe distance.  One that she never knew he had up. 

He cradled her cheek, his hand so large it wrapped around the back of her head.  The sweeping of their mouths grew intense, and she clenched his shirt in her fist, pressing her body closer to him.  He hummed into her before they both gasped for breath and went at it again. 

“Are you two serious right now?” shouted an angry voice. 

Mikey kissed her again, although he was suddenly being peeled away from her.

“Come here, Lover Moron.  Haven’t you heard the cops are looking for you both?  Or do you care?”

Denim glared at Raphael who had his hand around Michelangelo’s neck. 

“Raph, you remember Denim,” Mikey grinned, “Blue Jeans, this is my bro, Raph.”

Raph looked her up and down.  “What are you doing packing heat to dinner, huh?  What is the matter with you two?” He scowled at Mikey then gave him a shake. Raphael reached in the pocket of his jeans, pulled out a phone, and with two swipes of his finger he was barking into it.  “I got them both.  No.  They’re having a make out session in the street.  I don’t know.  Thought they’d get it on while waiting for the cops to come arrest them I guess.  Ah, shit.  Here they come.  No.  No.  I won’t.  I know, Leo.  I know.  Fine.  I’ll meet you at the station.  Nah.  I gotta go.  I gotta tell him what to do so he doesn’t get himself killed.”  Raph hung up, shoving the phone back in his pocket before he stuck his finger in Mikey’s face. 

A squad car was pulling down the street and flipped on its lights. 

Damn.  Denim’s shoulders slumped.  This was not going to go over well.

“Keep your mouth shut,” Raphael warned.  “Don’t even, yes sir, no sir them.  Just do whatever they say.  Mikey, I mean it.  They will beat you to within an inch of your life if you so much as breathe wrong.” Raph shook his head. “Don’t make me kill a cop tonight. And hurry up.  Give me everything you’ve got on you.”

Michelangelo looked at Raph then reached under his shirt and started handing over weapons.  “I didn’t do anything wrong,” he complained.

“You know how this works.  We’re mutants, we’re automatically guilty.  Just, just lay low.”

The squad car parked and two cops got out, then two more cars pulled onto the street.  Denim’s heart picked up pace.  Raph was right.  One cop had his hand on his holster as he approached the two mutants.  Two more squad cars rolled down the street with their lights flashing and Denim felt fear creep in.  She glanced at Michelangelo, then Raphael who didn’t take his eyes off the cop closest to them.

“We’re looking for Michelangelo Hamato and Denim Sanders?”  The officer closest to her motioned in her direction.  “I’m going to assume you’re Miss Sanders?”

“Ms., and I’m carrying a concealed weapon.” Denim put her hands up in front of her, palms up. 

The officer with one hand on his weapon kept an eye on the two mutants as his partner edged closer to Denim.  There were ten now, nine on the mutants and one on her.  The cop closest to her grabbed her hand and jerked it behind her back.

“Do you have a license to carry?” he asked.  But before she could answer he rushed her forward slamming her into the hood of his car.

She hadn’t expected his rough handling and grunted as the air was forced from her lungs.

“Hey!” Michelangelo yelled.  “Don’t hurt her!”

“Mikey!” Raphael warned.

“Halt, mutant!” one of cops ordered. 

“Yes,” Denim replied, blinking against the curtain falling over her left eye.  “Yes, I have a permit.” She was dazed, her head swimming.  The cop kicked her feet apart and ordered her to put her hands on the car, but he had one of her hands twisted behind her so she couldn’t actually do what he asked of her.  The cop pressed his body closer to hers and ran his hands over her body, squeezing as he cupped her breasts.

“Hey, stop touching her like that!” Michelangelo screamed.

“Mikey, don’t!” Raphael barked.

The cop laughed as he put his mouth against her ear.  “What do you care, what I do to you?  You let that _thing_ touch you.”

Denim’s teeth ground together.  Was this what they went through?  Was this Michelangelo’s reality?  She’d been so blind.

The cop took her gun then grabbed her butt, squeezing each cheek before pulling out her license, then her permit to carry, and the fifty dollars cash she had on her.  She panted under the pressure of his hand pushing her down, the muscles in her arm aching as he held it at a painful angle.  He resumed his groping pat down and she shifted trying to release some of the pressure on her arm.  He jerked her back then slammed her face into the hood of the car. 

“Get your damn hands off her!” Michelangelo snarled, his voice blending into Raphael’s unison growl of, “Knock it off!  What the fuck are you knocking her around for?”

“Don’t resist!” the cop yelled, grabbing the back of her head and slamming her face into the car hood again and again.  Blood spurt from her nose, pain branching out through her face.  Her eyes watered but she couldn’t see out of her left eye anyway.

“I told you,” hissed a low threatening voice she thought resembled Mikey’s but not in a tone she’d ever heard him use before.

Then the cop disappeared from behind her and she slid to the ground, listening to the sounds of a fight laced with Raphael’s constant cursing.  Her nose gushed, rivulets trickling down her face onto her lips, the taste of copper making her stomach turn.  She opened her eyes, still couldn’t see out her left and feared she’d lost it for good this time.  The concrete was cold against her cheek, rough, gritty, and her body was limp against it at a strange angle. 

“Halt or we will open fire!” A commanding voice warned.  “Get down on the ground, hands up.”

Denim heard at least five guns cock.  She knew that sound anywhere.  She tried to lift her head, felt pain hit her skull, but she saw enough.  The police ascended on the two mutants lying on the ground, boots and night sticks, then one pointed his gun at Michelangelo…

She spat out a mouthful of blood and pushed herself to her feet, she had to fight back.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: So I was kind of worried whether I made it clear as to why the brothers didn’t completely mop the floor with the cops, because we all know they could’ve.  But they are trying to live out in the open and that would mean trying to stay off police radar, but still unable to just stand by and let someone get beat down for being associated with them.  What a terrible position to be in.  But, Denim on the other hand, not being a mutant, is suffering because she’s with them, but I felt like she could get away with a little more before they’d actually pull the trigger on her.  Did it work okay for you guys?


	9. I'm No Hero

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Special thanks to Illusionna for beta-ing this story for us. ;)

Denim opened her eyes, and was relieved to find her vision had returned to her left eye.  But it was near swollen shut and blurry from her migraine.  She groaned, raising a swollen hand to her face, felt the blood dried to it pulling her skin taut.  Her lip was swollen too and as she tested her limbs, her entire body ached.  The dirty tile floor she was laying on was cold, hard, and she didn’t remember how she got there.

“Don’ moob arounb to mubch,” Mikey’s voice was a strained sound that hurt to hear.  “Bey beabt bou beven baffer bou babbeb out.  Bows bour bibs?”

She inhaled, then let out a wince and a grunt as pain recoiled through her ribs.  She tried to focus on something close to her as her heart began to pound.  Damn adrenaline, it never knew when to quit. 

Something silver and blurry became clear, bars, a wall of them in front of her, letting her see into the room next to her where Michelangelo leaned against a cell wall, his lip swollen, his eyes black and mostly closed. His exposed body parts were covered in big dark bruises.  Beside him, Raphael looked at her, his own face well beaten, but again, most of it taken to his arms and legs. 

“You are one crazy chick.  Don’t you have any sense?” Raph shook his head.  “You don’t have a shell to protect you.  Your ribs have got to be broken.”

She took another breath and decided she agreed with him.  “What happened?” she felt a split in her own lip and winced. 

Michelangelo didn’t say anything, instead crawled over to her and lay down facing her.  He reached a finger through the bars.  Denim lifted a purplish hand and held onto him. 

“Bou bave bot bo bet away brom be.  Book bat bou. Bou’re ba bess,” he managed to speak, but it looked like even the effort was painful.

It hurt to frown, but it was even worse when she tried not to.  “I don’t have to get away from you, Michelangelo.  I don’t _want_ to be away from you.”  Her eyes filled, but it was the single tear that slid down his battered cheek that steeled her resolve.  She didn’t need to be away from him, it was everyone else that needed to leave them alone. 

They stared at each other, drifting in and out of uncomfortable sleep for hours, and neither said another word. 

XOXOXOX

“Denim Sanders you are being arraigned.  Stop touching that prisoner!”  A corrections officer opened her cell door and marched inside kicking her legs.

“Stob! Stob! I bon’t bouch ber abain, blease.  Bust stob!” Michelangelo protested, drawing his hand away from her and sitting upright.

“Shut up, Mikey.”  Raphael snarled, grabbing his brother and wrapping a hand around his mouth.

Denim was pulled to her feet, and as they hit the ground, her head reeled and her knees buckled.  Her stomach lurched and she lost sight in her left eye again. 

“Bhe’s bot ba betal blate bin ber bead.  If bou bon’t stob berking ber aroub bou bould bill ber!” Michelangelo kicked the bars of his cell and the cop jabbed at him with a nightstick, missing when Raphael jerked him back while glaring at the cop. 

“What do I care what happens to her when she fucks the likes of you?” The cop hissed, then he spit at Raphael who clenched the bars of his cell and Denim half expected him to either bend them or rip them from the wall, he looked so pissed.

The cop jerked Denim and she stumbled into him, then struggled to right herself as he led her down a series of halls, past a booking area, interrogation rooms, then through a set of doors and down another series of halls.   She could only see out of one eye and her entire body was shaking from the effort it took to keep ~~her~~ upright. 

Where did such hatred come from?  Fear?  Jealousy?  Ignorance?  All of the above?  No wonder Michelangelo and his brothers fought at night.  There was no justice for them by the law, none that she had seen, and none for her while she was associated with them. 

The cop led her through a door and she found herself in a courtroom, placed at a table marked Defendant. 

She’d just sat down when the bailiff called, “Please rise.”

The cop that led her to the courtroom tugged Denim to her feet. 

A man approached her and held out his hand.  “Adam Dawson.  I’m your public defender.”

Denim glared at his outstretched fingers and he closed them.

“How long have I been here?  Isn’t this kind of quick?” she asked as the judge entered and everyone returned to their seats. 

“Two days.  You didn’t know that?”  The attorney looked baffled.

Denim groaned at the throbbing in her head.  “Do I look like I knew that?”

“You look like you should be in a hospital,” the attorney whispered.

Denim glanced around the courtroom, found it empty except for Leo, Donatello, April, Karai and Connie… who was sitting on the Plaintiff side and refused to look at her.  Shit.  Where was Alli? 

“What day is it?” she asked her public defender.

“Thursday.”

Thursday.  Denim glanced at the clock above the judge.  Lunchtime.  She was at daycare.

“Ms. Sanders, please stand to hear the charges.” The bailiff ordered.

Denim stood, leaning heavily on the rail in front of her.

“You are charged with three counts of assault of an officer.  Two counts of assault of a citizen.  How do you plead?”

Denim looked at the judge through her good eye.  “What?  I didn’t-”

The public defender grabbed her arm and she flinched as pain shot through it.  “You had a physical confrontation with three officers and attacked two citizens in a restaurant.  Don’t you remember?  What, were you drunk?”

“Jesus, fuck that is it!” Denim yelled.  “ _We_ were harassed by that asshole!  This is his fault!  And I was getting molested and beaten by the cop!  Forgive me for defending myself!”

“Order! Order!  I will have order in this courtroom!” The judge slammed his gavel then pointed it at her.  “Those are some serious allegations, Ms. Sanders. And I will have order in this courtroom.”

“Yeah, well I’d like to see _justice_ in this courtroom,” Denim fired back. 

“Ms. Sanders, one more word out of you and I will hold you in contempt of court,” the judge threatened.

Denim glared at the wrinkled old man holding a gavel. 

“Good.  Now.  How do you plead?” he repeated.

“Not guilty.” Denim snarled. 

What had she fought for?  What had Kyle lost his life for?  Not for this.  This wasn’t freedom.  This was a witch hunt… no a _mutant_ hunt.

“I see here that you have a daughter, Ms. Sanders.” The judge flipped through a file and looked at her.  “Allison.  It says here that her grandmother entered a petition for custody this morning.  In light of the nature of your charges, this court hereby awards temporary custody of Allison Sanders to her grandmother Constance Sanders.”

 _Connie what are you doing?  Don’t do this.  Not this._   Denim’s cheeks burned as hot as her blood boiled, but she didn’t look away from the judge.  

He flipped through some pages, then pointed to one.  “I understand you were a war hero, Ms. Sanders, and see that you have no priors.  This court recognizes your service to your country and despite your behavior today, has elected to reduce your charges to two counts of assault of a citizen.  This case will be reviewed in criminal court.  The custody of your daughter will be revisited in family court.  Until then, you will have supervised visitation.  You will be contacted with both court dates.  Your bail is set at ten thousand dollars.  This court is adjourned.”  The judge banged his gavel multiple times as if once wasn’t enough and she wanted to hit him with it.

Allison. 

What had she done? 

XOXOXOX

It took most of the day to process her out, but at last Denim was escorted from the building.  She walked out and found Michelangelo and Raphael were being released right behind her and waiting on the courthouse steps were the entire Hamato lot, well all the family members she knew about anyway.  There could be more of them, and it wouldn’t surprise her at this point.

She looked at Donatello through her one good eye, felt some relief that colors were starting to appear in her left again.  “They said you posted my bail.”

He nodded.

“Thanks.”

He looked at her.  “You should see a doctor.  And, Denim, it’s us who should be thanking you.”

She shrugged, her muscles throbbing, her ribs sending a jolt through her that almost took her breath.  “For what?”

“A cop had a gun to the back of Mikey’s head.”   Raphael appeared on her right side.  “You mean you don’t remember disarmin’ him and beatin’ him with it?” 

Denim shook her head and her world spun.  She put out a hand and found Michelangelo holding her up.  “No, I just remember counting five, five guns cocked at the same time.”

“Bou baved my bhell, Blue Jeanb,” Mikey mumbled.

“There’s something I don’t get, though.” Denim lifted her fingers to rub her temple, but finding it painful, she wrapped her arms around herself instead. 

“What’s that?” Leo asked.

“Why did they drop the three counts of assaulting a cop?  That’s a felony.  Why let those go?  Not that I’m complaining, of course.  It just seems, odd.”  She looked at Leo, but it was Donnie whose mouth curved into a little smirk. 

Leo pointed a finger at him.  “Thank Donnie for anonymously emailing the police chief, and the judge on your all three of your cases, video footage of police brutality.” Leo looked at Donatello.  “How many cameras did you say showed the entire incident?”

Donnie cracked his knuckles and exhaled.  “Ah, let’s see, two traffic cams, three security cameras, one from Mikey’s apartment building, one from the building across the street, one from the building beside that, oh, one of the cops was wearing a cam, and there were cameras in three of the squad cars.  They couldn’t hold up those charges, because they’d have a high profile police brutality case on their hands and I had copies.” He grinned.  “They’d lose.”

Denim snorted.  “I wonder how often it goes down like that?  I mean, it’s not like those cops didn’t know there were cameras in their cars, or the one that you said was wearing one.  So why do it at all?”

“Because they don’t care if it gets blown up.” Karai shrugged.

Donnie shook his head.  “I think they care if they lose.  They just hope you don’t file charges against them sighting police brutality.  They’re hoping you’ll keep quiet in the interest of not drawing attention to whatever it is that you did.” Donnie frowned.  “Which, there’s not much I can do about the video someone took at Murakami’s.  That’s a mess all over the internet and the news.”

“But we didn’t do anything wrong.  That guy and his friend were drunk.  They walked up on us.” Denim looked at Donnie.  “I’m guessing the video doesn’t show that though, does it?”

“No,” Donnie replied, “It could’ve been edited or maybe they didn’t start filming until you pulled your gun.”

“Yeah, about that,” Raph pointed to her.  “Can you _not_ carry a gun when you’re out with my brother?”

Everyone looked at her and Denim refused to answer.  She was too tired to argue with all of them in defense of her weapon choice.  And she had more to worry about than wasting her efforts trying to change their views.  Although she still didn’t understand them.  Later.  It could wait.

 As if sensing that the subject needed changing, April motioned to Denim and Mikey.  “You should tell him your story, Denim.  You deserve way more than what you think.”  She looked her over and frowned.  “But we should get you to a hospital first.”

She supposed April was right.  Not that she deserved more, but that Michelangelo deserved those answers he’d asked her for.  But she had two things burning a hole in her brain. 

One, how had her life spiraled so out of control in such a short amount of time?  Was this how every day was for mutants and their human counterparts?  Constantly on tiptoe, harassed then assumed guilty until proven innocent?  No damn wonder they were vigilantes.  Her bruised jaw shifted.  Hell, she might even join them.  This was bullshit.  And if they wouldn’t have her, she might go out on her own.  Maybe her war hadn’t ended when Kyle died and the mutants were liberated. 

No, because the real war was just beginning when she’d checked out. 

She believed in messages from the universe, maybe even from Kyle in the great beyond.  She wasn’t afraid to fight, she’d done it before, and she’d do it again. 

What she _was_ afraid of led to number the two item that was tearing her up… losing a loved one in any way shape or form…

What about Alli?

“I lost my daughter today,” Denim said in a daze.

“Be’ll bet ber back,” Michelangelo assured her.

If only she had his confidence.  And if only she believed that was what was best for her little girl.

XOXOXOX

“How are you feeling?” Mikey asked her for the hundredth time.  He handed her two prescription strength ibuprofen as Donatello shined a penlight in her eyes for the twentieth time that day.  The hospital had released her after a bout of x-rays, stitches and bandaging, now it was up to pain meds and rest. 

Just beyond Donnie and Mikey, Leo and Karai were talking while Raph watched both her and Michelangelo interchangeably.  April was doing something in the hall closet and Denim half wished she’d quit working so hard to help.  She’d already cleaned her kitchen, and made everyone soup, what else was there?   

“I’m fine,” Denim assured them, taking a shallow inhale, her taped ribs throbbing with every breath.  They hurt worse than her bruised body. 

“How’s your vision coming along in the left eye?” Donatello asked, his brown eyes darting back and forth between hers.

“Fine.  It cleared up. It’s just the swelling making it weird now.  Look, I’ve been through worse.  I’m okay, you guys, really.”  Once she’d showered and eaten, what little energy she had left was fading fast.  She sat on her couch, holding Alli’s pink turtle, fighting sleep. 

Alli had carried it with her everywhere since Mikey gave it to her, but Connie wouldn’t let her take it with her and her daughter had cried for it.  Damn near broke Denim’s heart.  She looked away from Donatello, pulled the turtle under her chin and stared out the window. 

April brought Michelangelo a blanket and he covered Denim with it.  He stood there staring at her, but she kept her gaze on the window.  The sky was a perfect clear blue, bright like his eyes the way they’d shine, vibrant and happy.  If she looked in them now, they were bruised and his mouth was set in this terrible frown that hurt to see. 

It wasn’t fair.  What he put up with.  What was happening to her, to them.  It sure as hell wasn’t fair her daughter was taken from her.  Was she making the wrong choices?  Or did she just need to tweak them a bit?  Did she give up Michelangelo or did she stick with him and fight by his side?  But if she did, could she get her daughter back?  Should she? 

“Denim,” April’s hand appeared over her wrapped wrist.  Denim didn’t look at her, but April went on anyway.  “You will get her back.  With your military record, and this being your first encounter with the law… you _will_ get her back.  But you need to decide some things and none of us here can tell you what to do.”

Denim gave a dazed nod.  “I know.”  She sighed then hissed as pain shot through her ribs.  She looked at Michelangelo who hadn’t taken his eyes off her.  She envied his healing ability. The swelling was gone from him, only bruises remaining.  She pushed her thoughts away and put a hand to her side, trying to support her ribs but not making any notable difference.  “Can you guys leave us?  I need to talk to Michelangelo.”

Without a word the apartment quickly cleared of lingering Hamatos. 

Her eyes flittered over Michelangelo, but they couldn’t stay. The look on his face, she couldn’t stand it. 

“Sit with me, Mikey,” she said softly.

He sat beside her and she reached out, taking his hand.  She took a pained breath and turned toward him. 

She couldn’t remember ever telling anyone her story, except Constance, because she needed her to know the truth.  It was her fault Kyle was dead and it was her fault Connie hated mutants.  The papers, they’d gotten it all wrong, she wasn’t a hero and Mikey was going to know that.  She needed him to know, she wouldn’t live a lie. The question was how would he feel about her once he knew what she’d done?

“I _was_ in the Mutant Liberation War with Kyle.  But he didn’t die on the front lines like I said.  I’m sorry, but that part wasn’t true.”  She hesitated, took a breath and continued. 

“He was my spotter.”  She looked in Michelangelo’s eyes, found his expression blank.  “I was a sniper.  We work in pairs, and he was my partner.  When we were kids his dad, who was retired military, taught us how to shoot.”

A sad smile came and went.  “We got really, really good.” 

She paused for a moment, but Mikey seemed frozen.  Since he wasn’t stopping her, she decided to continue her story.  “Before Kyle and I were together, like romantic together, we were just friends.  When we were fifteen, he started dating a mutant in secret.  I was the only one who knew about her, but he never actually let me meet her.” She shook her head.  “And God, I was jealous as hell.” 

 “She was killed in some strange incident,” Denim made a face, “I- I still don’t get what happened, but Kyle was devastated.  He said it was murder and because she wasn’t recognized as a citizen, there was nothing to be done about it.  So when the war started-” her lip quivered and Michelangelo gave her hand a squeeze. 

She put her battered knuckles to her mouth and took a breath. 

“He was going to enlist and I’d been,” she let out a pathetic laugh, “I’d been in love with him for so long.  I would’ve followed him to hell if he asked me to.” She tried to wipe her eyes, but they were swollen and it hurt.  It hurt like knowing she was Kyle’s second choice, and that he didn’t love her, not the way she did him.  But he’d been her best friend, her family, and whatever he gave her, she’d been willing to take. 

“It was like he was seeing me for the first time.  It all happened so fast.  We were married and enlisted, made it through training then-” Denim stopped, stuck for the lump in her throat, for the memories flooding her…

_“You’re aimed too high, adjust your sights.  Check it again, Denim,” Kyle whispered, peering through his scope._

_“Stop snapping at me,” she grumbled._

_“You shouldn’t be out here.  You should’ve told the CO this morning.  You don’t wait until we’re in the field, sighting a target to tell me something like this, Denni.” His hands were shaking as he huddled close beside her, checking them again._

_“You’ve checked my shot five times, Kyle.  I’ve got it, and I just found out this morning.  Excuse me if it hadn’t quite sunk in until just now while shit is getting blown up.  I didn’t think it would be this bad today.”_

_“It’s war, Denim.  It’s bad every day.  And you’re wrong, your shot is off.  If you take it now you’ll miss.”_

_“I won’t miss.  Look, check my scope.  I’m taking out the supply truck.  What are you aiming for?”_

_“For getting us both out of this alive when you hit the mark.  Fuck, Denni, the minute you saw the results, it should’ve sunk in.”_

_“Well, I’m slow that way, Kyle.  And the shots good, I’m taking it.”_

_She rolled onto her belly, looked, aimed, squeezed the trigger… and missed._

_The enemy scrambled, firing a spray of bullets into their cover.  One grazed her head and Kyle threw himself onto her, then next shot was a direct hit to the middle of his face._

“I radioed for emergency evac and dragged his body to the rendezvous point.  But he was gone… already cold and stiff.” She struggled to swallow her shame, and regrets.  She was a soldier, she was Kyle’s friend.  She was his wife.  And he was her family.  She owed it to him to be honest and own her mistakes.  But they hurt like a thousand beatings.  That pain never went away.  “And gone, he was gone.  I knew it,” she pushed the words over the knot in her throat, “But I couldn’t leave him.”

She gnawed on her lip, trying to press down the pain in her chest, couldn’t tell if it was from her tears or ribs but it hurt.  She took a few shallow breaths before she could continue.

“The shot I thought grazed me was worse than I realized. A fracture or something, I’ve never been able to focus when they talk about it.  I’d collapsed when I reached help.  It was all choppy when it was happening, like I was blinking in an out of reality.” She shook her head, staring at their intertwined fingers, pink and green.  Almost exactly what Kyle had fought and died for… “I woke up in the hospital a few days later.  They’d put the metal plate in my head.  It’s all fuzzy, after Kyle died all of it was just a blur.”

Denim rubbed her fingers over the hard piece of metal just beneath her skin.  “It messed up my vision in my left eye but it doesn’t affect my shot because I’m best with my right.”  Her throat hurt. Somewhere along the way a tears had slipped away from her.  Her face ached from the beating she’d taken and that mixed with the pressure that built in her sinuses from her weeping made her head throb.

She sniffled, and glanced at Michelangelo.  “So there you go.  I’m no hero,” she shrugged, “I’m a murderer, a crack shot used to kill people.  And I got my best friend killed by going into a fight and telling him that I just found out I was pregnant.”  Her jaw trembled and her shoulders shuddered.  “I destroyed our lives, and it only took seconds.  One mistake… and it was over.”

There was a long moment of silence before either of them spoke.

“Denim,” Michelangelo began, but she wiped her swollen eyes and looked away. 

Two large green fingers slid under her chin and gently guided them around to face him.  She closed her eyes, tried to stop the tears from falling, struggled to keep her chest from shuddering for the pain in her ribs matched that in her heart.

“I wasn’t finished talking to you, Blue Jeans.”  He kissed her cheek and she gasped, her eyes opening on his breathtaking blues. He nodded.  “That’s a hella mistake.  I feel ya.  I really do.  And I’m sorry it happened.  But I need to know, do you want to be here with me right now?  With all of that behind you, with all of that as part of you, and all we’ve been through since we met, is this,” he frowned but didn’t look away, “is this what’s best for you and Alli?  Because it’s not going to end in my lifetime, and I know that.”

Denim reached up and grabbed his hand, guided it from her chin to her cheek and leaned into it, the rough spots, the scars, she didn’t care.  She just felt comforted by him.  “Michelangelo, can I not decide right this second?  Can you just hold me for a while?  I’m really, really tired.”

He said nothing, simply guided her around so her back was against his shirt covered plastron, and she lowered her head to his thick bicep, inhaled the scent of pizza, felt his cool skin soothe her bruised cheek and closed her eyes.


	10. Solitude

Denim stared at the empty toddler bed across from her queen, in the single bedroom she and Allison shared.  Denim suspected that her baby would simply crawl into bed and sleep with her, and told Alli so, but her sweet girl had wanted the little bed anyway.  The edges of Denim’s lip attempted to form a smile. 

_“I’m a big girl, Mommy.  Big girls have their own bed,” Alli insisted, her eyes bright but the set of her mouth serious._

As expected, from the first night she’d had it Alli climbed from the little bed, tugged on Denim’s comforter, and every night Denim’s heart had filled as she pulled her under the covers.  She’d breathe her in, sniff her, and remember the infant she once was, the memories triggered by the scent beneath her shampoo, one that was unique to Allison. 

But Alli hadn’t slept in either bed in two weeks, and each time Denim visited her, it became harder to leave.  Alli took to crying, and throwing fits, begging Denim not to go.  And part of her worried that Connie was making negative remarks about mutants, because Alli asked about Michelangelo right away in the beginning, but with every visit her daughter seemed more confused.

_“Mommy, why does Nana say mutants is dirty and stinky?  Mikey smells good.  Like pizza.  And pizza’s good.”_

_Denim’s lip quivered, tremendous pressure building in her healing ribs.  “Mikey is good, Alli.  Don’t let anyone tell you different, okay?  You listen to your heart.”_

_“My heart says Mikey is good,” Alli frowned.  “I miss him.”_

_“Me too, Al.  Me too.”_  

Denim did miss Michelangelo.

She pulled her pillow under her cheek, oblivious to the tears slipping onto her sheets as she remembered waking up on the couch alone with a note on her coffee table…

_I guess the world is against us, Blue Jeans.  Yeah.  We were going to be epic, so big they knew it and no one could just leave us alone…_

_I know I promised I wouldn’t bail on you again.  I guess I lied and that’s so not my style, sorry for that.  But I hope you’ll understand. I can’t let you keep going through this.  Not for me.  It’s not fair to you or Alli.  I need you guys to be safe and I want you to be happy._

_Love, Mikey_

She’d reread the damn thing again and again.  She’d read it and cried, read it and felt abandoned, read it and gotten pissed so, so pissed.  She’d crumpled it and thrown it the garbage only to fish it back out five minutes later and read it again.  It just wasn’t like him.  Not when he’d promised her. 

So she’d texted him. 

And he didn’t answer.

Then she’d called him. 

No answer.

After just a day of not talking to him, or hearing from him, emptiness settled in and it hurt.  Then with each passing day the pain grew.  Alli was with Connie, Mikey was gone, and she was on bed rest with broken ribs and four bare walls to look at.

She sent him a text in the morning.

Blue Jeans: Good morning, Mikey. 

Then mid morning…

Blue Jeans: What do you call birds that stick together?

Nothing.

Blue Jeans: Velcrows.

Then in the afternoon…

Blue Jeans: I hope you’re doing better than me. 

By evening…

Blue Jeans: I wish you’d talk to me about this.  I miss you.

Nothing. 

She kept it up for the first week.  By the end of it she was beginning to feel like a dumped girlfriend, unwanted, forgotten and discarded.  But the ache in her chest, the grip he had on her heart, that kind of pain couldn’t be one sided.  It just couldn’t.  Not when all the problems between them weren’t about them, but what everyone else kept doing to them.  They never even had a real chance to know what it could be like for them if all of that wasn’t happening. 

They never stood a chance.

Then at some ungodly hour of the night she got a random text …

Raph: Just focus on getting Alli back.

What did that mean?  Obviously she was going to try to get her daughter back.  Was this his nice version of ‘leave my brother alone?’  Well if it was, it was a 180 from ‘Are you just gonna let him go like that?’ Of course he’d said that to her before she’d taken a beating in the interest of saving his little brother.  Things had changed.  Now it was _‘leave him alone.’_

She’d looked at her phone and tried to think of something to say back to him, but everything felt desperate.  The more she thought about that text though, a little inkling of hope stayed with her, that maybe Mikey didn’t _want_ to be away from her.  Maybe, just maybe, his brothers had encouraged him to let her go. 

This made more sense.  His breaking a promise, well that just wasn’t Mikey.  But if his family insisted on it, if they’d convinced him that this was for the best…

This brought her back to rereading his note, which had sent her through the whole cycle all over again.  Then she decided that if he hadn’t been replying to her texts and he didn’t really want to be away from her, then she was hurting him by reaching out again and again.  Maybe that was why Raph texted her.

So she stopped.

She rolled to her back, staring at the cracks in the ceiling.  It was Monday of the second week when her thoughts had shifted.  She was alone.  The apartment was sadly quiet and unusually clean without her daughter and she was tired of waiting for something to change. 

What if she made things change?  But how could she?  If the fight at Murakami’s hadn’t been filmed the whole thing arrest might never have happened.  But it was out there.  What if Donnie could at least figure out whose phone it came from?  Her jaw shifted as she fluffed the pillow under her head.  She’d sure like to have a word with them. 

Why were anti-mutant civilians even at Murakami’s?  Everyone knew it was mutant friendly.  She tossed and turned, her mind circling around with unanswered questions. 

She flipped onto her back then slapped the mattress with her hand.  “I need answers,” she announced.  A cursory check of the time on her phone put her at midnight.  She’d been tossing and turning for two hours.  Well, she was through.

“Mphf,” she grunted, sitting upright and placing a hand over her ribs.  She took a few shallow breaths then inched off the bed.  A casual dress would be the easiest thing, comfortable and non-confining.  She made her way to her closet and pulled the chain attached to the single light bulb inside it.  She perused her clothes, found a nice black tank dress and managed to get it over her head without tears.  Damn broken ribs.  They’d take forever to heal. 

Shoes.  Damn it.  She wasn’t wearing heels in this condition.  She looked at the shelf overhead, her gaze settling on one long box in particular.  “Not tonight, Pretty.  But if things keep going this way, chances are good you’ll see action again.” 

 _In the meantime, Pretty, your little brothers could tag along._   Of course they hadn’t released her nine millimeter to her.  Holding it as evidence or some bull.  She hadn’t even fired it!  She pulled over her stepstool and with gritted teeth, stood on it, reaching for a pair of black Converse and a small case.  She opened it, studying her Beretta then her Smith & Wessen .38’s.  She opted for her Smith & Wessen and put the box back on the shelf.

“To Murakami’s we go,” she murmured, strapping her gun to her thigh. 

XOXOXOX

As she stepped inside the restaurant, a sense of unease crept over Denim.  Would Mr. Murakami be upset with her?  Would he call the police and demand she leave?  Her heart jerked.  Maybe this wasn’t such a good idea. 

“Too late now,” she told herself, approaching his hibachi. 

The corners of Mr. Murakami’s mouth tipped up ever so slightly and he sniffed the air.  “Denim?”

She gripped a barstool.  “How did you know it was me, Mr. Murakami?”

“Ahhh, a blind man never reveals his secrets.”  He motioned a hand toward the bar.  “Come, sit.  I am glad you have returned.  I am most upset over what transpired the other night.  I had worried you might not be back.”  He inhaled again.  “Where is Michelangelo this evening?”

Denim snorted, then winced at the pain in her ribs.  “We broke up, I guess.”  She pulled out a stool and sat down, tapping her fingers on the counter.

Mr. Murakami reached under the bar and pulled forth a small glass and a bottle of sake.  “On the house,” he said, filling it up.

Denim accepted the drink, turning it with her fingers.  “Mr. Murakami, can I ask you something?”

“Of course,” he smiled. 

Denim glanced around the restaurant, spied a few late nighters.  On one side, a wolf mutant and a bird sat together, on the other two humans, and somewhere in the middle was a table of college kids, both mutant and human celebrating a game win.  Sharing the bar counter with her were two men on opposite ends, one glanced at her, then picked up his glass and shot the rest of his drink.  She sighed. What she didn’t see anywhere, was a human and mutant flirting with one another. 

“What is it, my friend?” Mr. Murakami asked.

“You know those guys that attacked us the other night?  I don’t understand what they were doing here.  They knew this place is mutant friendly.  It just, it doesn’t make any sense.” She looked around once more, then eyed her glass of sake.  “You don’t by chance know who took the video, do you?”

“Hmm, no,” he reached for a towel and began polishing his bar.  “They were not regulars.  And I would ask them to leave if they ever return.”

“I thought you might say that.  Not about them leaving, but about them not being regulars.”  _I can’t even ask him what they look like.  Ugh.  This is going to sound stupid._   “Forgive me if this is the dumbest question anyone has ever asked you, but you don’t happen to have a security camera in here do you?”

Mr. Murakami leaned over the bar, whispering, “You do realize I am blind, don’t you?”

Denim’s face heated.  “Y-y-yes, Mr. Murakami.  I’m sorry.  That was a stupid question.  I’m so sor-”

He reached out and put a hand over hers.  “But this is New York and my customers are unique people.”

Denim straightened.  “Wait, are you saying?”

Mr. Murakami kept his voice low, “I had footage, but the police took it as evidence.”

What?  Why hadn’t anyone mentioned this?  This would’ve cleared her and Mikey.  “Mr. Murakami, did Donnie ask you if you had any footage?”

Mr. Murakami chuckled.  “No, I’m sure he either assumed I didn’t have a camera since I am blind or that the police took whatever I did have.”

The man with the empty glass held it up then scooted down until he was beside her.  He flashed her a superman smile and she offered him a polite one in return. 

“Mr. Murakami,” he said, although he was looking at Denim, “I need a refill, and I’d like to buy this lady a drink.”

Denim cringed.  “That’s not necessary, thank you.” She held up her sake.  “I already have one.”

Mr. Murakami took the man’s glass and went to the other end of the bar, refilling his drink.  The man leaned closer to Denim.  “You’re the girl from the news, right?”

She tipped back her head and shot the sake, keeping her eyes on Mr. Murakami.  _Great_.  She was about to be harassed, again?  “What do you want?” she demanded.

The man rose out of his seat, reached for his wallet then opened it, flashing his badge.  “I’m a cop.  A pro-mutant cop.  And I know what they’re saying went on here the other night isn’t how it really went down.”

Denim stared at his badge then her eyes lifted to his sharp features.  His eyebrows were thin wisps of brown, his hair would be curly if it weren’t cut so short, she could tell by the swirl of it, and his eyes were a deep brown that she thought resembled the horse shit he was probably feeding her.  She closed her eyes and tried to clear her mind.  _Not all cops are bad.  Not all cops are bad._  

“I’m Detective Greg Kemp.  I investigate hate crimes, like yours.”  He accepted his drink from Mr. Murakami, took a sip, then exhaled.  “You do know it would just be easier to date within your own species, right?”

Denim huffed then drew a hand to her ribs.  “Well, I’ve never chosen the easy path in life, and it doesn’t so much lead me down it, either.  Michelangelo is one of a kind.  I’d do it all over and not change a thing.” Even as she said it, she thought of Alli. 

“Even losing your daughter?”  Detective Kemp asked.

She _would_ like to change the outcome of that. 

She glared at him. “You know an awful lot about my case.”

He took another sip and raised his eyebrows.  “Well, it’s part of a much bigger one.  Trouble is, I can’t seem to find Murakami’s security footage in the evidence locker.”  He grinned.  “I did manage to get a copy of the security footage showing my fellow brethren attacking the three of you, though.  I’m holding on to that for later.”

Who was this guy?  “Do you come here a lot?” Denim asked, tapping on the counter.  Mr. Murakami walked over and poured her another shot.

“Not until the incident.” He took a long swallow, draining his glass until the ice clinked within it. “I was hoping one of the two of you would come back and we could talk in a low profile setting, like we are right now.”

Was he following her?  What were the chances of her or Mikey returning after what happened there?  Except that she had.  She turned on him.  “What do you want from me?”

“Hm,” he mused. “I’m ready to settle up,” he said to Mr. Murakami, then reached in his pocket and handed Denim a card.  “It’s not over, you know.  That attack was just the beginning.  Call me, not the station, when whatever they decide to do next goes down.”

Denim’s mouth fell open.  “W-w-ait, what do you mean it isn’t over?  Are you saying this wasn’t random?  What’s going to happen next?  Who, who are you talking about?  Who are _they_?”

Greg inhaled, checking his bill then tossing a wad of cash on the counter.  “I don’t know how you did it, but you caught the attention of an extremist.  Then that video the other night, it put you out there like a beacon.”  He looked Denim in the eye.  “If I were you, I’d end things with the mutant, and shit, if you can, move.  Now let me walk you home.  I can’t believe you’re out walking around New York by yourself after having your face all over the news.”

There wasn’t much left for her to lose.  Mikey was gone.  Alli was taken from her.  What else was there for them to do to her?  Her heart lashed her ribs, and her hands shook, but she was determined to at least attempt to look calm.  She controlled her breath and forced a smile to her face.  “I hate to break it to- whoever _they_ are, but I’m not going anywhere.  And I can get home just fine on my own.”

Greg shook his head.  “Well, be sure to call me when you need help.  I’ll do what I can.  In the meantime, try to hang in there until I get my case together.”  He winked at her and she wanted to smack the egotistical grin off his face. 

She slid from her barstool and turned to leave before he could.  She suddenly wanted to be as far from him, and there, as she could be.  But he said something that stopped her in her tracks.

“Was he worth it?”

She spun around to face him, her blood sparked hot like a flame.  “Your damn right he was.”

He held up his hand and wiggled his ring finger on his left.  “Yeah, my wife is, too.”

Denim stared at the platinum band.  “Mutant?”

He nodded.  “Cat.”  He motioned her closer.  “Look, I’m sorry if I’ve come off as a jerk.  It’s just a lot of humans treat them like experiments.” He looked her in the eye.  “You seem like the real deal, though.”

Denim glanced at the clock over Mr. Murakami’s hibachi.  “It’s late.  I should go.”

“Good luck.” He nodded.

Denim left, but not without the blanketing sensation that she was being watched.  She tapped her fingers over her thigh just above her holster, Greg’s words lingering in her head… 

_“I don’t know how you did it, but you caught the attention of an extremist.  Then that video the other night, it put you out there like a beacon.”_

She’d found some answers, only they led to a whole slew of new questions. 

_If I put myself on an extremist’s radar before the video… is someone I know an extremist?_

Denim was grateful for an uneventful walk home, but as she slid her key into the lock she noticed a curled piece of paper tucked between the handle and the frame.  Her insides sunk as she reached for it.  _What now?_   She unrolled it and groaned. 

ATTENTION TENANT: We have received a complaint that there has been a mutant related disturbance in your residence.  As you know we do not rent to mutants.  However they are welcome to visit, unless a complaint is issued. 

Pursuant with your lease agreement, section 9, item 1:

Mutants are permitted to visit the premises. However in the event of a complaint tenant agrees to cease and desist bringing mutants onto the property. 

 As a result of the complaint your privileges have been revoked and NO MUTANTS will be permitted in your apartment henceforth. 

Failure to comply will result in EVICTION. 

Sincerely,

Clarence Abbott

Superintendant, Hi-View Apartment Homes

“What damned disturbance?” She crumpled the letter in her fist and pressed her brow against her door.  She hated her apartment and its policies, but it was all she could afford by herself.  Everything that was mutant friendly had been out of her price range.  Her teeth ground together.  Those same ‘friendly’ apartments were out of most mutant’s price ranges too, and many of them ended up in run down tenements just like hers, only on the worst streets in the city.  “I’m so sick of this shit.”


	11. The Old Saying Goes

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Hang in there with me dear readers, it looks like this is going to be a long ride.  Special thanks to Illusionna for beta-ing and to Katstories for brainstorming with me. 

 

XOXOXOX

“What do you mean I’m fired?  I didn’t do anything wrong, and I need this job!”  Denim slapped a hand on her boss’s desk and the scrawny man jumped. 

“I’m sorry, Denim.  But since you’ve become involved with mutants, there have been… disturbances here.  And with your recent run in with the law, then taking time off to recover from whatever it is that happened… this just isn’t good for business and we’ve got to let you go.  Keith will escort you to clean out your locker.  You are,of course, still welcome to shop with us-”

Denim scoffed, stood up, and marched from his office straight to the locker room. Keith was right behind her, and for once the security guard wasn’t running his mouth.  He was, however, practically under her feet.  She tried to put some distance between them, but he picked up his pace, getting so close to her, she could feel his breath on her neck. 

She stopped at her locker, opened it, and got her things out. 

“You letting that thing touch you is wrong.  You’ve got to know that.  Its bestiality, is what it is.  It’s immoral and you’ll burn in hell for it.” 

Denim spun around, thrusting her face in his.  “Are you jealous, Keith?  Hm?  You worried that he’s got something you don’t?”

He bared his crooked teeth at her and in seconds his forearm came up across her neck. He shoved her hard into the lockers, and the padlocks dug into her healing ribs.  She hissed as his fingers reached up around her throat and he started to squeeze.  She smacked at his hands, while trying to get her knee up but he pressed his body against hers, his eyes wild.

“You’re a dirty little whore,” he spat in her face.  He slid a hand between their bodies as she choked and gasped.  He squeezed harder with one hand while reaching for her waistband with his other.  Spots formed before her eyes, her lungs burning, pleading for oxygen. 

_Think, Denim.  Think. Think._  

She stopped smacking at his hands, even as she felt her arms going numb.  Instead, she thrust the heel of her palm up under the bridge of his nose.  Keith reeled, stumbling back, giving her the space she needed to kick him in his groin.  She ran from the locker room gasping and coughing, her ribs throbbing. 

She didn’t stop until she was outside and two blocks away then ducked into an alley.  She slid onto her butt, crying as she rubbed her neck, contemplating how, even without Mikey, the world was still caving in on her. 

Now she had no job. 

In just weeks, she’d met someone very special, been assaulted by a restaurant patron, attacked and molested by the police, screwed by both the courts and her mother, lost her daughter, was accosted by a security guard, and lost her job.

That was pretty much everything she had. 

She stared at the wall across from her, all its cracks and imperfections, one brick built upon the other… graffiti covered, dirty, and old, but the foundation still strong. 

She took a deep breath, cradled her ribs.  What was her foundation made of?  She’d been shipped from one foster home to another, met Kyle and found a kindred spirit, then got him killed, had his baby, and… Would she ever stop being a fuck up? 

And what about Michelangelo, would she ever see him again?  Could she possibly change his mind?  Because she wanted to.  She was more certain of that after all they’d been through.  Yes.  She missed him.  She believed there was more for them, despite the hell the world was putting them through. 

“Denim?”

She looked toward the sidewalk, saw Karai standing there. 

“What are you doing?” Karai asked, her dark eyes sweeping the alley then settling back on her. 

Denim lifted her head and Karai saw her neck.

“What the fuck?” she hissed, leaping forward and looking her over.  “Who did this?”

Denim rubbed her face, felt a headache coming on.  “I took care of it.”

Karai snickered and Denim looked at her.

“What?” the Japanese woman raised her eyebrows and smirked.  “Look, from what I hear, you went a few rounds with three cops, busted some asshole upside his head, and now we hear you were a damn sniper.  You are just full of surprises, aren’t ya?”

Karai sat down next to her and Denim thought the girl strange, so hot and cold, spicy and smart. 

“I’m full of fuck ups,” Denim grumbled.  “What’re you doing here?”

“I was on my way to the store.  I was kind of looking for you.  I thought we could do lunch.  I, uh, might know someone that can help you get your daughter back.”

Denim looked at the woman.  “Why would you help me?”

Karai didn’t hesitate.  “You saved Michelangelo’s life.  And his brother loves him, and I love his brother.  And… he’s all right, I guess.”  She shrugged and Denim thought the woman cared more than she let on. 

“Have you been in the Hamato family long?” Denim asked her.

Karai snorted.  “Yeah.  Well now that’s a story for another day.  But yeah.  Hey,” she looked at Denim, “have you even met Splinter yet?”

Denim stared at her.  “Who?”

Karai nodded.  “Oh yeah, you’re long overdue.  Come on, you’re coming home with me.”

XOXOXOX

Karai pointed to a chair at her small kitchen table.  Apparently, she and Leo shared an apartment with the enormous rat sitting right in front of Denim. 

“Leo’s teaching at the dojo today, and I’m off, so it’s just us.  Right, Father?” Karai asked, placing a small pot of tea and three cups on the table.

Denim made a conscious effort to hold her mouth shut as she stared at the giant rat, trying to remember what Karai had said his name was, but so astounded by him, she drew a blank.

“Hmm, yes,” the rat mused, sipping his tea and looking at Denim over the rim of his cup.  “It is just us.  My sons are away and my beloved daughter is spending the afternoon with her old father.”

Karai let out a mischievous snicker.  “It’s not _that_ bad.  At least you finally get to meet Michelangelo’s girlfriend.”

The corners of the rats mouth tipped up, his human brown eyes shining.  “Yes.  I’ve heard so much about you, Denim, is it?”

Denim couldn’t stop looking at him, at his pointed ears, his long snout, his nose, his pink clawed hands.  “You are amazing.”

The rat’s ears perked.  “Hmm.  From what I hear, so are you.”

Denim slumped in her chair.  “Not really,” she sighed.  “In recent weeks I’ve broken the law, lost my daughter, and today I lost my job, and before that, I managed to get my husband killed on the battlefield.  No, Sir,” she looked in the rat’s eyes, “I’m a walking disaster.  Your son deserves so much better.  He really does.”  Denim shifted in her seat then, moving to stand.  It was true, Mikey deserved better and so did Alli. “My daughter deserves better too.”

The rat raised a clawed hand and pointed to her chair. “Sit, please.”

He said it with such authority that Denim sat in her chair without thinking about it.

“Michelangelo cares a great deal for you, and he is a tremendous judge of character.” The rat cleared his throat, “Maybe more now than when he was a teenager, but he sees the best in others.” 

He looked Denim over.  “His optimism is its own light, and in recent weeks he has told me of _your_ light.  He has said that you are a wonderful mother, raising your daughter alone, that you defended him, and now it’s happened, not once, but twice.  And the first time you did so, he was a stranger to you.  Few humans would do that.  That is commendable.  That is courage.  That is wisdom and strength.  No, Ms. Sanders, we thank you.”  The rat reached out, placed a soft clawed paw over her hand and she felt warmth radiate from it.  “Have patience, child.  The old saying goes, we learn little from victory, but a great deal from defeat.”

Denim’s eyes widened.  “I don’t understand.”

“Hmm,” the rat mused.  “Where do you think your destiny lies, Ms. Sanders?” The rat gave her hand a gentle squeeze.

“To be honest-”

She had thought a lot about destiny.  Her subconscious had been screaming something to her for a while but she’d brushed it away, again and again, only right then, as she sat at a small table with a mutant rat, she felt compelled to admit it to herself, and able to speak it out loud. 

“I feel like all of this is my call to fight again.  Like this has always been my fight.  To stand up for my husband’s fallen love who would never see justice, for him, even though I failed him, for Allison so she can be free to love whoever she wants… and for Michelangelo and everyone like him, because everyone deserves to be free  to love and live without fear.”

The corners of the rat’s mouth tipped upward.  “If you know this, what stops you?”

_What stops you?_   Denim didn’t have an answer for that. 

Karai collected the cups and empty teapot.  She went to the counter and came back with a slip of paper.  “Here’s the number for the guy I was telling you about.  He’s a social worker, his name is Casey Jones.  We work with him… uh, at our nighttime job.” She winked at Denim.

“Another vigilante?” Denim took the card, and felt like she had something of a plan forming on the edges of her mind.  “Thank you,” she said to Karai then looked to the rat again, “you never told me your name.”

“Hamato Yoshi.  You may call me Master Splinter,” the rat motioned to Karai.  “She should speak with Leonardo.”

“Of course, Father.” Karai nodded then looked at Denim.  “Are you trained on anything other than a gun?”

Denim straightened in her chair, feeling protective of her weapon.  “What does this family have against guns?”

Karai grinned. “Personally, nothing.  But I think you’ll find the brothers have their own preferences.”

Denim crossed her arms.  “I don’t need to talk to Leo.  Mikey isn’t even speaking to me right now, so there’s not much point.  But I appreciate the help getting my daughter back.”

Splinter stared at her.  “Hmm, humor an old rat, and please speak with Leonardo.” He motioned to Karai who nodded.

“We’ll go right now, Father.”

“Very good,” the rat said with a gleam in his eye.

 


	12. The Hamato Trap

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It was announced over on Tumblr that there is a Mature Fanfic Competition coming up.  The nomination period begins in May.  I don’t think this story qualifies because it’s being written in 2016.  HOWEVER, I know some of you are huge fans of my Zoe series.  All I’m going to say is, I’d be ecstatic to see her original story on the ballot. ;) 
> 
> ~ Special thanks to Pheonix500 for beta-reading this chapter.  :) ~

 

 

Karai and Denim approached the old warehouse space, entering through a side door that read:  Hamato Dojo, Sensei’s Hamato Leonardo, and Hamato Karai. 

The hours were printed below and Denim noted that it was closed from noon to two each day.  Karai slid a key in the lock, glanced at Denim and grinned.  “You ready for this?”

Denim shook her head.  “Ready to what, ask Leo to go to lunch with us?” 

Karai let out a short laugh. “Look, a piece of advice, Leo can get kind of long winded so just cut him off.  Tell him something that takes the conversation out of his control and ends it, then leave as quick as you can.”

Denim didn’t know what Karai was talking about but filed the information away in case it was legit.  She didn’t need any long winded speeches. That was part of why she didn’t go to church.

Karai pushed the door open then grabbed Denim by the arm and tugged her inside.  Immediately, Raphael’s voice hit her ears, loud and mocking, but she didn’t see him.  “Come on!  You gonna mope around forever?  You’re getting your ass kicked, _again_!”     

Denim looked around the small office space they entered in, then glanced down a hall but Karai stopped her. 

“Have you ever been in a dojo?”  Karai’s red lips curled into a smile and her nose wrinkled.  “Or are you a virgin?”

Shouts of hai-ya, whaaa, and other shrieks, squeals, smack talk, and battle cries seemed to bleed through the walls mingling with the sounds of flesh hitting padding, flesh hitting flesh, and metal and wood clashing. 

Denim frowned at Karai.  “What is going on?  It’s lunchtime, I thought the dojo was closed.”

“Have, you, ever, been, in, a, dojo?” Karai enunciated.  “Geez, Raph was right, you are about as daft as Mikey.” 

Denim glared at her then rolled her eyes.  “Yes. I took self defense classes, kickboxing, and basic combat training when I entered the military.”

Karai nodded and pointed to the pile of shoes by the door.  “Shoes off, come with me.”

As they reached the end of the hall Denim caught sight of the orange tails of Michelangelo’s mask, then him getting launched over Donatello’s head.  He got up again and the two were a whirlwind of bodies, kicks, punches.  Donnie swung a staff and she saw Michelangelo using his nunchucks for the first time. 

To watch him was like a dance she wished could go on forever. He was as one with his weapon as she was skilled with a gun.  Pride seeped through her.  It was good to see him again, especially doing something he loved.

Karai pushed the second door open, put a hand in Denim’s back and guided her inside.  She kept steering her until Denim stood just to the inside of the door looking across the enormous space. 

Leonardo was talking to Raph and looked up.  Karai nodded and his chin tipped up and down, acknowledging her. 

In the middle of the dojo, Donatello took a swing at Mikey who’d noticed movement by the door and locked eyes with Denim.  Still looking at her he ducked the punch, and with a twirl of his chucks grabbed the end of Donnie’s staff with them, tossing him.

 “What are you doing here?” he called, and something about the tone of his voice made her stomach turn. 

What _was_ she doing there? 

This was a mistake.  What were Karai and Splinter playing at?  It hadn’t occurred to her that Mikey would be there, not when they kept insisting she talk to Leo.  And why?  What was there for him to say?  She should be calling the social worker and trying to get him assigned to her daughter’s case.

Donnie got to his feet and looked from Denim to Leo then glanced at Raph who nodded.  The two left through a door at the other end of the dojo. 

“What is she doing here, Karai?” From the middle of the dojo Michelangelo shifted his question to the woman who’d brought her.

Karai shrugged.  “Talk to Splinter and Leo, I just deliver.” 

She looked at Denim and whispered, “Nobody can tell you what to do.  But I’ll tell you this, sometimes you have to give up fighting where life takes you and when you do, when you let go and accept it for what it’s supposed to be,” she took a deep breath, “it doesn’t so much get easier, but there are these moments in between the bullshit...” she glanced at an approaching Leo and her words were barely audible, “you can really and truly be happy.”

Then she slipped out the door leaving Denim alone with Michelangelo and Leonardo. 

“What are you doing here?  What is she doing here, Leo?” Mikey repeated, his eyes darting over her while avoiding actual contact.

Denim was growing impatient.  She was tired of vague innuendos about destiny, and life.  She crossed her arms.  “Yes, what _am_ I doing here?  Why was it so important to Splinter that I be here and speak to you, Leo?  And why was I led to believe I was here to see _you_ , but no one thought to mention that _Mikey_ would be here?  Hmm?  Why?  I’m sure _Michelangelo_ has made it as clear to all of _you_ as he has to _me_ , that he doesn’t want to see me.”

“You met Splinter?” Mikey echoed her then his mask bunched together. “And hey, I never said I didn’t _want_ to see you!  That’s not fair.”

Denim turned on Mikey pointing her finger at his face.  “Excuse me?  I sent you like four texts a day.  I called.  _You_ didn’t answer and I didn’t want to push myself on you.  But, in case you forgot, let’s recap here. I got my ass kicked, went to jail, lost my daughter, have been molested by a cop, today I lost my job _and,_ gods damn it Michelangelo, I’ve been through hell to be with you and fuck if you didn’t just leave. _Again_!”

His eyes widened and he stepped back, his mouth open and moving but no words coming out. 

Leonardo didn’t say anything but had an odd smirk on his face as he reached for the dojo door and stepped around Denim.

Then it was just the two of them.

Mikey stared at her.  “I-”

She held up a hand.  “I don’t know what I’m doing here.  I really don’t.  Karai saw me, said she could help me get Alli back, then I met your dad, and I’m sorry,” she started to ramble, felt her heart slamming against her sternum. He was so close, and she’d missed him so much. 

“None of that was fair.” She looked in his innocent blue eyes, found them shining and bright but sad and she hated that.  “It wasn’t fair for me to dump all that on you.” She waved a hand. “All of that, crap, just now.  That was wrong.  I’m sorry.”  She took a step back, turned and put her hand on the door handle.

“No, you’re right,” his voice came out soft but certain. “But that’s why I left.  My brothers thought it would only get worse for you if I stayed.  You got hurt, and Alli is hurting, and it’s because of me.  I can’t let that go on.  If I’m gone then your life can be what it was before.”

She shook her head.  Her back was to him with one foot out the door, but damn it if her heart wouldn’t let her go any further.  She slammed it shut and wheeled on him.  “It’s too late, Mikey.  It’s too late for you to walk away.  It’s too late for you to pretend you never existed to us, because you do.  And we miss you.  Alli never stops asking about you and,” her lip trembled, “I miss you.”  Her hands were shaking as his eyes drifted over her, settling on her throat.

“What happened?” he reached out, gently putting a hand behind her neck, applying light pressure so she tipped back her chin and he got a better look.  “What now?  How am I gone and stuff is still happening to you?”

She closed her eyes and tried to look away, but he moved his finger so her head wouldn’t turn. 

“That’s not fair,” she whispered, locking eyes with him.

“What, happened?” he repeated, his blue gems wide with worry but the set of his mouth grim.  The expression so misplaced on such a laid back, lighthearted guy, sent an ache to her heart.

She raised her hand, reached up and put her fingers over his. It felt so good to touch him again.  The feeling rolled through her like something electric and her stomach dipped and rallied. 

“I took care of it,” she replied, stepping toward him. 

“Took care of what?” he pressed. 

She missed the happy-go-luck Mikey.  She longed for his optimistic side, that gift he had that life seemed determined to smother out of him.  She didn’t know why his brothers seemed to have changed their minds, but maybe they were right.  Maybe he was better off without her.

“Mikey, it’s not a big deal.  It’s over… just, let me go.  I won’t bother you anymore.  I didn’t mean to bother you today,” she stepped back from him. She couldn’t make him fight for the two of them. But she would.  Maybe not for them being together but for what they could’ve been.  She’d expose the extremists. She’d fight for him and Alli both, all on her own. 

But he guided her toward him, pulled her close and rested his chin on the top of her head.  “I _have_ missed you,” he murmured.  “And if they won’t leave you alone even when I’m gone then I’m staying cos’ I can’t keep you safe if I’m not there to stop it.”

Her heart wrenched as she listened to him, felt him close, breathed him in and wanted him as much as she needed him.  “Good.  Because I’ll fight for you every day, and fuck anybody and everybody that gets in our way.”

He lowered his face to her hair and inhaled deep.  “I have _so_ missed the way you smell.”

She giggled.  “Really?  What do I smell like?”

“Mm, strawberry shampoo, and a little like Alli which I like cas’ it reminds me that there’s another part of you running around.”  He inhaled again then nuzzled her and she felt his lips brush her cheek. 

“I missed the way you smell too,” she murmured, closing her eyes.  She would try to hold onto the moment, to his cool breath on her face, to the rise and fall of his plastron against her, to his lips lingering on her cheek. 

“Yeah?” he whispered in her ear. 

Her entire body trembled. 

“What do I smell like?” He was smiling, she could feel the upturn of his mouth against her face and she wanted him to never stop, because his light was shining again.

She giggled and he gave her a gentle squeeze.

“Don’t laugh, it’s not fair,” he whined and she laughed harder.  “I told you when you asked,” he protested while tickling her.  She squirmed under the attack of his fingers.  “No, no, don’t laugh,” he cooed, “You’re still laughing.  Why are you laughing, Blue Jeans?  Huh?” He tickled her more, his face staying close to hers, his breath mingling with her own.  She wiggled as he found every ticklish spot that wasn’t her ribs. 

Then he pressed his mouth to her neck and she shivered.  “What do I smell like?” he asked, his lips pressed to her skin.  “Hm, you better tell me.”

She turned her head, rubbed her cheek against his and he pressed his body closer to hers.  “Mikey,” she gasped, leaning into him, her heart pounding.

“M-hmm,” he breathed, his hand slipping into her hair as he tilted his head and sought her mouth. 

There was a frenzy of hands, and lips, and sighs, before Denim found herself pressed against the wall of the dojo with heated, blue eyes peering into hers.  He kissed her again, then trembled and closed those brilliant gems, taking deep breaths while Denim stroked his cheek.

“What’s wrong?” she whispered.

“Not here,” he ground out then took a tense step back and lowered her to her feet.  “I’m just- just- not- here.  Not,” he rubbed the back of his mask and glanced at her, his cheeks dark beneath his eyes.  “Not,” he waved a hand and it occurred to her what he was trying to say.

“First time, stuff?” she asked.

He looked her up and down, breathing heavily.  “I don’t want to freak you out, and y-yeah, first time stuff.”

“Yeah, well first time in a long time for me too.” She glanced around the dojo.  “This is kind of exposed, huh?”

He reached for her again.  “I can barely keep my hands off you, so it’s not like I don’t want.” His eye ridges rose and he grinned. “Cas’ I want.”

Denim wanted him too.  It should’ve surprised her that she was so ready to take the next step with him so soon, but they’d been through so much.  The decision wasn’t a difficult one, not something she needed to agonize over.  She peppered his cheeks with little kisses then sought his mouth.  “It would seem I have been deprived of Michelangelo rations for two whole weeks,” she whispered against his lips.

He grinned.  “Is that so?”

She nodded.  “Yeah, it is, but I think I have a solution to this problem.”

He leaned forward, pressing himself against her once again, then nibbled her neck and asked. “What is that?”

 She brushed her cheek along his and murmured, “You can spend tonight making it up to me.”

“Ahem.  This is my dojo, Michelangelo,” Leonardo’s voice startled them and they jerked apart then stood side by side looking at him.

Mikey fidgeted beside her, glancing at her then to Leo and back.  “Right.  Sorry, Leo.  We were just, leaving.  We have some stuff to, uh, talk about.”  He reached for Denim’s hand but Leo held up his.

“Hold it.  I’m glad you guys worked things out.  But I did speak to Master Splinter about Denim.  I really need to talk to her.  You can wait in the office if you want.”  Leo motioned Mikey toward the door but his brother didn’t move.

“Uh, no.  Whatever you need to say to Blue Jeans you can say in front of me.” Mikey looked at Leo expectantly.  “So what is it?”

Leo’s attention shifted to Denim.  “At first I thought you were going to get my brother killed.  Then after everything that happened I thought it would be best for you and Alli both if you stayed away from him.  I mean it’s been one thing after another since you came along.” 

Mikey opened his mouth to protest.

“I’m not finished.” Leo gave Mikey a look that stopped him then he stepped closer to Denim.  “But you’ve put yourself on the line protecting him, made sacrifices…  And my brother,” he glanced at Michelangelo and frowned then looked at Denim, “my brother hasn’t been able to get his act together since we asked him to break up with you.” 

Leo paused, took a breath, then in an almost begrudging voice said, “He was actually the best he’s ever been when you were together.”

Denim met Leo with an even gaze.  “Yes, well if everyone would stay out of our business we might be able to find out how good we really are together.  Couldn’t we?”

“She’s right,” Mikey piped in.

Leo opted not to respond to either of them and instead changed direction.  “Donnie's been looking into the guys that attacked you at Murakami’s.  He ran some kind of facial profile thing.  They're members of a local extremist group that harass mutants around the city.  Especially when humans are involved.    Because this concerns you, and you have a specific skill, we could work together on this one mi-"

"No we can't!” Michelangelo yelled.  “I can't believe you're saying this, Leo!  When were you gonna tell me about any of this?  I didn't know anybody was looking into stuff!"  He looked at Leo but pointed to Denim. "You _wanted_ me to break up with her so she'd stop getting hurt and now you want her to _help_ us?"  
  
Leo spoke to his little brother as though he couldn't possibly understand, "Mikey, there are charges against you.  We have to clear your name.  We have to find Mr. Murakami’s security footage."  
  
Denim snapped to attention.  "You know about the footage?"  
  
"How do you?" Leo and Mikey asked in unison.  
  
"Wait," they pointed to each other.  "How do you?"  They pointed at Denim.  "You first." 

Denim sighed.  "I'll go first.  I went to Mr. Murakami's the other night to ask if he knew who attacked us.  I don't know what possessed me to ask a blind man if he had security footage, but I did and to my surprise he actually did but the police took it.  Then this detective told me it was stolen from the evidence locker."  
  
Leo squinted then his eyes shifted to Mikey.  "What about you?"  
  
Mikey let out a nervous laugh, then rubbed the back of his head.  "Uh, I might have followed her and went in to talk to Mr. Murakami after she left."  
  
Denim's mouth fell open then she snapped it shut.  He was following her?  Wait.  "Why were you following me, if you were supposed to stay away from me?"

Mikey frowned.  "Cos I never wanted to break up in the first place."  
  
Leo sighed.  "Fine.  I think we’ve all established that was my fault.  Can we move on, please?”

Denim reached out and jabbed Mikey in the plastron.  “We talked about the creepy following me around stuff.  Stop it.” Her jaw shifted as she turned toward Leo.  “And you, I get the whole big brother thing.  I really do.  I wish I had a family that cared like you do about each other, but you don’t give him,” she pointed at Michelangelo, “enough credit.  He’s an adult. He can make his own decisions about who he wants to date.  I’m going to _ask_ you, because you’re bigger and can totally squish me, but I’m going to ask you to please stay out of our relationship.”

Mikey grinned.  “We have a relationship.”

Leo and Denim were staring at each other and ignored him.

“Fine,” Leo agreed.

“Good.” Denim huffed.

“Good.”  Leo repeated.

“Great!” Mikey exclaimed.

Leo’s eye twitched.  “Can we get back to business now?”   
  
Denim opened her mouth but Mikey cut her off.  “No.  No business for her.  We’ll take care of it.  She just needs to stay safe until we fix all this.”

Denim and Leo looked at him.

“He’s an adult who can make his own decisions, huh?” Leo asked, although it was hardly a question. 

“Hey!” Mikey protested.  “I am.  What’s wrong with my plan?”

Denim sighed.  “Mikey, we have to find out who’s doing this.  We have to find the proof we need so neither of us goes to jail.  I need to get Alli back and _you_ do not belong in prison.”

Mikey reached out and took her hand.  “Let us take care of that stuff.  Why do you have to help?”

She stepped closer to him, and spoke in a low voice as she looked in his sweet blue eyes.  “Because it’s happening to me, it’s probably happening to others, and because I can help.” 

Leo didn’t wait for his brother to argue with her.  "Donnie's working on something for you.  I don't know what but that's what he said, and it’s supposedly almost ready.  And Mikey, she’ll be pretty safe if we ever do actually call her for help.  Snipers work from up to a mile away.”

“It’s true,” Denim assured him, “I’ll cover you, or take out a strategic target to create a distraction.  I’m part of a strategy, not a front linesman.  But I don’t think we’re there yet.” She shrugged.  “Maybe never.  But I do think if we work together we can expose who these people are and what they’ve done, and again with the not wanting to go to jail thing.”

Mikey frowned.  “I don’t like it.”

Denim stepped on her tiptoes and clasped her hands behind his neck.  “You know what, I’m too tired to argue it and I’m just glad to have you back.  So can we let this rest for now and just enjoy a night together?”

The corner of Michelangelo’s mouth quirked up and there was a sparkle in his eyes.  “I like the sound of that.”

“Before all of _that_ ,” Leo began, “Mikey we still have to clean the dojo.  And,” he held up a finger, “I just want to clarify that we won’t be killing anyone should we work together.  Like I said Donnie is-”

 As Leo opened his mouth to keep talking, Karai’s tip about Leo being long-winded made sense.  Denim stepped forward, and clapped Leo on the arm. “Good talk, Leo.  Thanks.  Let’s do it again sometime.” 

He stopped mid-sentence, his mouth hanging open. 

Then she flashed Mikey a smile as she walked toward the dojo door, before stopping to ask him, “See you at five?”

 


	13. First Time Stuff

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: We get a bump to M with this chapter. If you don’t like a little lovin’ you can skip it and read the next one, it will pick up as if we had done a ‘fade to black.’ You’ve been warned, I’m now stepping out of your way…

 

Denim knew full well she was taking a risk inviting Mikey to her place.  But she also knew she was fed up.  Telling the guy she was totally into, and had been through so much for, that he wasn’t welcome in her home… Well that was as out of the question as the idea of her not defending him the day they met.  It wasn’t going to happen.  In fact she had no intention of telling Mikey about the notice at all.  No matter how she’d played that conversation in her head it screamed ‘wrong.’  Besides, she’d just gotten him back and planned to enjoy at least one peaceful night together.  They’d earned it.

Michelangelo was at her apartment at five sharp, blushing a deep green and fidgety as she opened the door and let him in.  He was bare faced, but the apples of his cheeks were dark enough to match his freckles and she felt a pang of sympathy for him. 

“You okay, Mikey?” she asked, as he shifted his weight back and forth in her living room. 

He looked around like he was seeing the place for the first time, gravitated toward her DVD shelf and started sliding each movie out, looking at it before putting it back.  All the while he kept bending one knee then the other in a constant state of motion. 

“Mikey?” she asked again and he jumped, knocking over half the movies.  When he spun around to pick them up his shell bumped the shelf.  It popped off its hook and dropped on one end sending DVD’s sliding off.  He tried to catch them, bumped his head on the dangling shelf and it fell completely to the floor. 

“Mmmphf,” he whimpered then heaved a sigh, letting his head hang.  “Blue Jeans,” he whispered and her heart ached for him.

She walked over and knelt beside him, helping stack the movies on the floor.  “What’s wrong, Mikey?”

He sat down where he was, the movies piled between his legs, and looked at her.  “I’m not gonna lie. I’m like stressing over here.  I really, really want this and I know it’s possible because, _hello_ Leo and Karai, and April and Donnie, they do, and they are _not_ quiet about it.  So I’m like really glad we’ve got our own places now,” he began to ramble, “and I really, really want to do this but I don’t want-” he rubbed the back of his head and she reached out, stopping him, took his hand. 

If he was going to be freaking out and it was something they both wanted, well she would be the calm for the both of them.  Still her own heartbeat was something she could feel all the way into her fingertips.  He would be different.  They both knew it.  She didn’t know exactly what to expect, but she’d done some snooping around to give her an idea, and she knew he wasn’t going to hurt her. 

She gave his hand a squeeze.  “Hey, there’s no rush.  We don’t have to do anything.” A coy smile slipped over her mouth and she snickered. “Well I guess that’s not entirely true, because you totally have to snuggle with me.” She shrugged. “But anything else, if it happens okay, if not that’s okay too.  I’m just really glad you’re here.  It’s been lonely without Alli bouncing around stringing her toys from one end of the apartment to the other.”  She pointed to the pile of movies.  “I’m actually glad you made a mess right away.  I’m feeling better already.”

He let out a nervous laugh.  “Y-yeah?” 

“Yeah.” She assured him.

He pulled his hand from hers, and stroked her cheek.  “I do want this, I just,” he raised one eye ridge, “you promise not to freak out?”

Denim shook her head, grinning. “No, I don’t promise.  Good grief boy you might really give me a reason to freak out and that’s legit.”

Mikey looked horrified and Denim giggled. 

“I’m joking, Michelangelo.  I’m sorry, I probably shouldn’t tease. But you are really stressed out right now and this is supposed to be something you enjoy, not something you worry about.”  She reached out a hand to him and stood up.  He got to his feet and she noticed him trembling.  “Mikey, you know how you breathe in training?”

He was staring down the hallway, his plastron rising and falling in short breaths.  “Y-y-yeah?”

She put a hand on his t-shirt, felt his plastron beneath it.  “Look at me,” she whispered.  He did as she asked, once their eyes met he stilled.  “Good, now just breathe.  It’s just us, me and you.  There are no expectations, no pressure, just-”

He leaned forward pressed his mouth to hers and as their tongues met everything about him became slow and deliberate.  From his careful stroking of the inside of her mouth, to the way he caressed her, his fingers brushing her face, his lips sweeping her mouth then her jaw, and neck.  She let out a little sigh as he pulled her close. 

Reaching up she tugged on the hem of his orange t-shirt and in two movements he had it over his head.  She loved seeing him shirtless, all that sculpted muscle… but he started to fidget again like he was getting in his own head.

She stepped back, looked in his scorching bright blue eyes and lowered the strap of her sundress, exposing one shoulder first then the other, letting it fall to the floor.  Michelangelo swallowed hard, his breaths coming quicker again.  She hadn’t been with anyone in two years.  He hadn’t been with anyone ever.  And she was determined that it wouldn’t matter.  Not so long as the both wanted this, not so long as it was him.  She turned and walked toward the hall, glancing at him over her shoulder.  “Are you coming, Mikey?”

She’d never seen him move so fast. 

Somehow he was in front of her pressing his mouth to hers, her back into the wall, then her heels were on the edge of his carapace and his plastron was cool and hard against her belly.  He kissed her throat, swallowed hard again and asked, “I can touch you, a-anywhere?”

Denim’s heart crumbled at the sweetness of him.  “Anywhere,” she promised. “I’m yours to explore.”  She stroked the side of his face.  He was so curious and affectionate, so perfect for her.  His finger traced the lace trim on her bra and he looked at her.

“We can take it off, but you’ve got me kind of pinned to a wall so it’s not going to be-” she didn’t get to finish as he carried her down the hall and lowered her to her bed. 

She reached behind her back and unclasped the scrap of lingerie and tossed it to the side. 

“Hmpf,” he whimpered his eyes locked on her breasts.  Denim knew they weren’t small, but they weren’t enormous either.  She only hoped they were enough to satis-

Michelangelo’s mouth closed over the crest of one nipple and her eyes rolled back in her head.

“Oh my god, Mikey,” she gasped, as he rolled his tongue over her, dragging his lips along the peak.  He kissed between her breasts, switched to the other repeating the motion then he made a strange noise she’d never heard before.  It sounded like it came from deep beneath his plastron or maybe his throat. 

He froze with his mouth over her nipple, released it and looked at her as if he realized what he’d done.

She reached down to stroke the top of his head and thanked god that she’d gone on Wikipedia that afternoon.  It had given her some clue as to what noises turtles made, what their anatomy looked like and how it worked.  She smiled at him. “Churr away, if you’re that happy.” 

He grinned and with his confidence growing he kissed a trail down her belly then ran a finger over the edge of her thong.  She lifted her hips, he hooked a finger over the fabric and slipped them from her legs.  He looked her over from head to toe.  “You are like, oh my gods gorgeous, Blue Jeans,” he almost yelled.

Denim laughed.  “Well thanks, Mikey, but I think we need to even the playing field here.”  She scooted up from beneath him and pointed to his belt.  “It’s time to lose the jeans.”

His eyes locked with hers.  “I have a tail,” he blurted out.

She tried not to laugh at his innocence, even thought she could be falling in love with him for it.  “I know.”

“Y-y-yeah?” he stammered, his eyes searching hers. 

“Well it’s your tail, I’m pretty sure you knew it was there.  I know you’re a turtle so I know it’s there, and I get how this works.  So we can stop here, if you’re not comfortable with your body.  Cos’ I’m comfortable with mine and I’m curious about yours.”  She got to her knees and peered into his eyes. “But I really want to feel you.  Do you want to feel me too?”

He nodded emphatically and she reached for his belt, freeing him of it.  When she went for the button on his jeans his hand appeared over hers and he undid them himself, sliding them off and pulling her close to him.  He lowered her onto her back and whispered, “There I’m naked too.  We’re even again.  Now, I was going to do some’ explorin’, you okay with that now?”

The Michelangelo she adored, the playful lighthearted guy was with her, peeking out between his nerves and she wanted to encourage him.  She pressed her brow to his and answered, “I’m all yours.”

His lips pressed against her mouth, then her neck.   He nibbled her shoulder and she giggled.  Then he stroked a thumb over her nipple and began planting a trail of little kisses on her belly, right down to the little patch of hair nestled between her legs.  When his wide warm tongue lapped at her folds her toes curled.  With a moan one of her hands flew down to his cheek.  He turned his head, kissed her palm and went right back to stroking her with the best mouth she thought she’d ever known. 

“Oh, my, god, Michelangelo are you sure you-”

“Mhm, m’sure,” he murmured then his hand travelled up her thigh, squeezed the muscle and sent a thrill of anticipation shooting through her.  Then he turned his wrist and his thumb found her sensitive nub, while his finger pressed against her center and she almost shrieked at the overwhelming mix of pleasantries. 

He dragged his tongue along her again then pushed a bit with his finger and she couldn’t believe how big it was.  Her heart began to pound and she wondered if she’d really be able to accommodate him.  “Mikey,” she panted, as he pushed again and she knew she didn’t even have his entire finger. 

His mouth was over her, his tongue probing and flicking that little bundle of nerves.  When he stroked her walls as if beckoning her to him, she cried out, “Oh my god, Michelangelo!  You have got to be lying!”

He laughed and the vibration of his mouth was almost too much to bear.  Her back arched as she pant beneath him.  Then he pushed his finger all the way in, sliding easily through the wetness of her.  Her feet slid over the sheets, hands gripping the ridge of his carapace as an exquisite mix of sensations consumed her.  He stroked her again, then again faster.  “ _Oh_ _my_ ,” she gasped.  His tongue joined the rhythm and she thought if this was how good his first time was ...  Her entire body shivered then clenched down hard around him, heart pounding, blood rushing through her ears as she came. 

He slid his hand from her, kissed her folds, then lifted up, lay down beside her and propped his head up with one hand.  “Was that okay?  Cas’ it felt like it might be okay.”

She rolled to her side, facing him and found the mischief in his eyes a challenge.  “Oh, someone is getting full of themselves.” She grinned then reached down between them, dragging her fingers along his bridge, down to the tender flesh where the edges of his shell met his body, then farther down until she found his tail. 

His eyes closed and his mouth fell open.  “Unh,” he whimpered. 

As she gripped the thick wide muscle and began moving her hand in long smooth strokes his legs fell open.  “B-b-blue Jeans that’s just,” he panted, “just-” He gasped leaving his mouth in an ‘o.’

Her fingers searched amid the stroking, until she found his cloaca, wet, smooth, and soft.  When she traced the outline of it with her fingertip he gasped, then let out a sweet moan as his head emerged.  She kept massaging his tail, while casually studying his length and the flower shaped end of him.  _Well this is going to be interesting and a hella tight fit._  She tried to slow the frantic beating of her heart, worried she’d alarm him. 

He reached down and grabbed her hand suddenly.  In a fraction of a breath he’d flipped her.  He leaned over her with his length hard against her thigh, kissing her with a ferocity she’d not experienced from him before.  Then he practically ripped his mouth from hers, breathing heavily. 

“Denim,” he panted and she thought his jaw must be clenched, “are you sure about this?” His eyes opened, and he peered into her, searching for assurance.

It was in that moment, in his struggle to hold himself back that she let herself fall open beneath him and stroked his cheek.  “I honestly can’t promise you’re going to fit,” she whispered with a shake of her head, and she wasn’t sure he would.  But where she would’ve expected him to crack a joke he didn’t.

“If anything hurts-” his eyes darted back and forth between hers and his hips shifted so he lined up with her.

“I promise, I’ll tell you,” she said then pressed her lips to his.  He kissed her gently then reached down and stroked the inside of her leg, holding it open as he made his first push against her. 

She sucked in air as he quickly stretched her to her limit.  _This is going to work.  It is.  I want it to work.  I need this to work._  While she was trying to focus on calming her racing heart, he’d stopped, looked at her with alarmed eyes.  _Breathe, Denim.  It’s Mikey.  You’re okay, this is what you want, and gods his eyes are so damn beautiful._   With another slow deep exhale she relaxed a bit around him.

“It’s okay, I’m okay,” she assured him.

He was frozen stiff, eyes studying every inch of her face as if he wasn’t sure if he believed her. 

She reached up and guided him close, whispered against his lips, “I’m okay.  It’s okay.”  She lifted her hips pushed him just a bit deeper, taking deep breaths as he resumed inching his way inside her. 

He drew in a sharp breath as he slid home.  “My gods, Blue Jeans you feel amazing,” he gasped.

So did he. 

He was wide, thick, long and she was so full of him she wondered that he fit at all. But he did and when he took his first thrust she rushed hot over him, loosening up until it felt like they were made for one another, even though everything in nature said they weren’t. 

Well fuck nature too.  Denim was tired of everyone and everything saying no to them.  She wanted him, he was inside her, kissing her, holding her and carrying her away to someplace that was just the two of them and nothing standing in their way.

“Oh my gods, Denim,” he moaned, his thrusts coming and going like a snapping rubber band.  “This is really, _really_ hard.”

He was holding back. Denim sensed this in the flex of his muscles, coiled so tight she thought they might snap.  But she couldn’t help giggling at his remark.  He glared at her, thrust a little deeper.  She gasped at his response, thought she’d never seen him so focused as she dug her fingers into his arm.  “I’m sor-ry are we, _oh my god_ , n-not jo-king r-right now?”

He didn’t answer and she panted between his quickening thrusts.  “I mean, _oh that feels really goooood_ , I’m s-sorry I c-couldn’t, _sweet mother of_ , help it, you set yourself- _oh_ _my_ -up for ttttthat, _whoa_ , one.” 

“Maybe,” he managed between strained grunts. “But you have _no_ idea.” He let out a gasp then moaned, “ _No_ idea.”

She kissed his forearm beside her cheek and whispered, “Then let go.”

His eyes had been scrunched tight and opened abruptly.  They were such a breathtaking blue she melted around him all over again.  “Yeah?” he swallowed, his entire body trembling with the efforts of his restraint.

She lifted her head pressing her brow to his, felt a lump in her throat for adoring the thoughtfulness of him.  She’d never felt so sure of trusting anyone with so much power before, not the way her heart told her she could him.  “I’m sure.”

He kissed her fiercely, pulled her close, and reached as far within her as he she could take him, testing his limit.  Then he pounded into her until she thought she was losing herself. 

“ _Oh my_ ,” she gasped as he moved inside her. 

It was her faith in him that must’ve made the difference as he soon switched to longer, slower strokes, leaving her writhing, reaching for something to hold onto.  The only purchase she found were his thick muscled arms, the ridge of his shell, his sweet, sweet face, and that delicious mouth.  He was perfect for her, a little fight, lots of play and endless love.  She didn’t need anything else. 

He thrust again, shifted his hips and the edge of his plastron rubbed her just right, he did it again then again and she sunk her teeth into his forearm as she came. 

“Ow, Blue Jeans,” he teased, his blue eyes vibrant. 

_Good he’s being playful again._

But the second he took his attention off his control he struggled to regain it, only to surrender to himself, reaching her depths and flowing inside her.  He lowered his body against hers, and they lay tethered to one another, gazing in each other’s eyes until his cock retreated into his tail.  He moaned softly his protests and she kissed him with her reassurances. 

 “So,” she asked casually, her naked body still pressed to his, “you think that’s something you want to do again sometime?”

He nodded empathically.  “How about in like two minutes?”


	14. Real Heroes

Sunlight bled through the curtains on Denim’s bedroom window.  She tried to shift but found a big green muscled arm draped around her. Michelangelo was breathing in a soft steady rhythm on the back of her neck.  She smiled and twisted so she could look at him. 

He was so… beautiful, his face youthful in his sleep, his freckles as endearing as his spirit.  Her heart swelled, even then he was smiling.  He could make things so easy, falling for him certainly had been.  His breathing changed and he stirred. 

“Morning, Blue Jeans,” he murmured, kissing her neck and pulling her to him. 

She nestled close to him, marveled at how hard his body was but how she still found it comfortable.  Her eyes settled on his forearm where she’d bitten him.  She’d clawed him a bit too, left little fingerprint bruises on his bicep and didn’t remember holding on to him that tight.

“Morning, Mikey,” she hummed as she ran her foot along his leg.  “Do you work today?”

He gripped her hip and guided her beneath him in one fluid motion.  Bright blue eyes peered into her. 

“What’s work?” he asked with a grin on his face.

She laughed.  “What do you mean, what’s work?”

His eye ridges rose.  “I’ve taken up exploring.”

She mimicked his expression.  “Is that so?”

“Mhm,” he moved forward as if he’d kiss her and she was ready to receive him but he turned his head at the last second.

“What is this?” she scoffed although she was still smiling.

He turned his head to look at her again then behaved as though he’d kiss her. This time she didn’t move until his breath hit her lips.  She lifted her chin and reached for him but he turned his head in the other direction.

“What are you doing?” she laughed, swatting his plastron.

He looked at her again, his eyes bright and playful, the smirk on his mouth taunting as he lowered his lips toward hers yet again.  She pressed her lips together and mumbled, “I’m not even going to try.”

He feigned a pout and she rolled her eyes.  He nudged her chin with his head then lingered near her mouth but she didn’t move, bit her lip to keep from trying. 

“What do you mean, what am I doing?” he whined, “I don’t know what you’re talking about.” The upturn of his mouth was sly and he was so close her lips ached.  Then his hand travelled down to the inside of her thigh and he squeezed various little places making her squirm and giggle.    

“Ack, Mikey!” she flailed beneath his attack, laughing as he tickled her, gasping between protests. 

“What’s wrong?” he teased amid gentle pinches and squeezes that had her writhing in hysterics beneath him. 

“Stop, oh, my god, I can’t even breathe,” she gasped, laughing so hard her stomach hurt and her eyes watered.  

He released her leg then rubbed the muscle as if to smooth out any irritation.  Her laughter faded as she reached up between them and caressed his face, still smiling so wide her cheeks hurt.  She hadn’t felt so alive in years… as he set his gaze on her mouth, finally pressing his lips to hers, she thought maybe she’d never felt so alive ever.  Not even with Kyle. 

XOXOXOX

They lay entangled, Denim’s head resting on the edge of his plastron, his thick bicep her pillow.  She rubbed lazy circles over the keratin that protected him, and he let out a happy sigh. 

“Can you feel that?” she asked, tracing the nicks and scuffs.

“Kind of, the way you’d feel if I did that to your fingernail but less,” he shrugged.  “It’s nice though, don’t stop.”

She continued her little swirls and lines, marveling at the amazing creature he was both inside and out.  She tipped her head up to look at his face, enjoyed the smile on his mouth.  Unexpected heat burned her eyes and a lump rose to her throat.  She swallowed them quickly but not in time that he didn’t somehow sense the change. 

He glanced down at her.  “You got all stiff.  What’s wrong?”

The lump prevailed and tears brimmed.  She pressed her lips together.  Why was she crying?  She hadn’t felt so relaxed in years, not so satisfied, so happy maybe ever… and he picked her.  Shared his first with her.  Not like Kyle.  With Mikey she wasn’t second.  She was first.  A stray drop fell from blurry eyes.  _Oh god.  I love him._  

He frowned at sight of her tears.  “Hey, you okay?”

Another escaped her and she swiped at her face, blinking them back. “Yes, yeah,” she nodded, “I’m fine.”  _Too soon.  It’s too soon.  Maybe I’m just emotional._   She smiled at him.  “I’m just really happy.”

Mikey wiped at her cheek.  “Okay, well that’s a weird way of showin’ it.”

He was so perceptive she half wondered if he didn’t think she wasn’t giving him the whole truth.  But this truth could wait.  A declaration like that changed things, escalated them, and they still had so many issues to resolve.  Issues… Shit. 

“Mikey, I just realized I never asked how court went for you and Raph.” She’d been so selfish.  Of course she _had_ been beaten and reeling in the loss of her daughter but still. 

His mouth set in a flat line.  “I don’t want to talk about that right now.  It’ll work out.  My bros are going to help make it right.”  He gave her a reassuring squeeze but she still felt off.

“Mikey, what were your charges?” She pulled his arm closer around her but kept her chin up so could see his face. 

“If I tell you, you gotta promise to let it go after.” He rubbed his thumb over her belly then wiggled his fingers as if he were itching to tickle her.  A little thrill rolled through her skin as he smiled at her.  “I’m enjoyin’ myself and your bein’ all serious.” 

She squirmed a bit then he stopped and she settled back into her spot.  “I promise.”  _But I don’t promise I’m not going to try to do something about it._

“They dropped the charges against Raph.  He had my weapons and never pulled his or mine, so he just told them he was on his way to practice.  But they hit me with one count of aggravated assault, one of attempted murder, one for assault with a deadly weapon, and one for disturbing the peace.”

Denim bolted upright.  “What?  That’s insane!”

Somehow Michelangelo managed to laugh it off and she half wanted to choke him, half cry for him.  “It’s all right, Blue Jeans.  Donnie said it’s cas’ I’m a mutant and they’re mad cas’ they had to drop the assault on the police.”

“That is _not_ all right!  Hell what weapon?  I’m the one who had a gun.  I hardly think kicking a guy is attempted murder, and we know the disturbing the peace is just bullshit.” Her fury was mounting.  “It was our peace that was disturbed!” 

Mikey didn’t move, just reached up and guided her back down.  Once he’d settled her back where he wanted her he told her, “My foot.”

She looked up at him, still huffy.  “What?”

“My foot,” he chuckled. “My foot was the deadly weapon.”

Her mouth curled into a smile as she ran her toes along his calf searching for his giant foot.  “It is kind of big,” she bit her lip then they both laughed. 

“Yep, it’s deadly,” he announced. 

Something told her that it wasn’t only Mikey’s foot that was deadly, but then she was too, so they were still a match as far as she was concerned.  She wiggled her way onto his plastron and pressed her lips against his cheek.  She’d promised him she’d let it go and as far as he would know she would.  “We should get out of bed, sometime today,” she whispered into the crook of his neck.

He pressed his lips to her cheek then nuzzled her.  “I don’t wanna,” he whined.

She laughed, rolling off to his side back into her spot.  “Mikey, we have to return to the real world.  I get to visit with Alli today.”  She rubbed his arm.  “Do you want to go with me?”

He sat upright and looked at her.  “Really?”

She nodded and he frowned.

“But Connie hates me.”

Denim sat up and rubbed her face.  “She didn’t always hate mutants, Mikey.  It’s misplaced anger.”  She ran a hand through her hair and slipped from the bed.  “It should be me that she’s mad at.  I mean it was me… that got him killed.”

She crossed the room, pulled open a drawer on her dresser and felt two strong arms wrap around her waist.  “It was an accident, Denim.  It was bad timing and war, and you weren’t the one on the other of that gun.”

“No, you’re right.  I wouldn’t have ever hurt Kyle, but it was my mistake that took him from her.  And I can’t imagine how I’d feel if anything happened to Allison.  I don’t think I’d want to live anymore.  That kind of grief, it’d be worse than losing her father.”  She turned her head, rubbed her cheek along his arm and sighed.  “Take Connie out of the equation for a second.  If she wasn’t going to be there, would you want to go?”

Mikey gripped her arms and spun her around to face him.  “Heck yeah, Alli is all kinds of fun.  While Connie was talking to the doctors, Alli and me talked about stuff, played games, and-” he rubbed the back of his head, looked a little uncertain, “I might’ve told her to poke this one boy in the eye, trip him and run.”

Denim froze.  She blinked, and shook her head.  “You did what?  What boy?”

Mikey shrugged.  “She was talking about this boy on the playground, said he was mean to her.  I just thought she’d need to know what to do so she could get away from him if he tried to hurt her.”

Denim closed her eyes and exhaled.  “Mikey, that’s Will.  He’s three and thinks she’s a villain.  It’s play.  He’s never actually hurt her.”

“Sorry,” he flashed her a sheepish smile, and looked at her with hopeful eyes, “on the flipside I taught her some great jokes.” 

Denim looked him over, turned and opened the dresser drawer, pulling out a thong.  “Jokes, huh?”

“Yeah,” he said dazedly.

She slipped into her underwear and reached for a bra.  “Like what?”

His voice came out melancholy, “Why can’t pirates finish the alphabet?”

She glanced at him as she hooked the clasp behind her back.  “Why?  And why do you sound so sad all of a sudden?”

Mikey sighed.  “Because they got lost at C.” He pouted. “And I _am_ sad.”

Denim’s brow furrowed and she stepped close to him, looking in his eyes.  “Why?  What’s wrong?”

“You’re putting clothes on,” he whined.

She swatted his arm and rolled her eyes.  “You’re a mess.”  She pulled out a pair of jeans and tugged them on.  “Quit standing around, Mikey.  Get dressed.”  She buttoned the fly on her pants and found him still standing there watching her. “Are you going with me?”

“Are you sure?  I don’t want to ruin your visit with Alli,” he said, his gaze settling on her bra.  “And I don’t think I like clothes anymore.”

She giggled.  “We’ll take them off again eventually.”  She crossed the room, pulled his pants off the floor and tossed them to him.  “Look, I have to be honest with you.  I want to take Alli out with us in public.  But I haven’t because I’m afraid of stuff, you know, like what happened… I’m scared of that happening while she’s with us.”  She walked by him, reaching in her dresser for a shirt.  “If we can’t conquer Constance Sanders together, then I don’t know how we’re going to be prepared to handle whatever society throws at us.”

XOXOXOX

Denim managed to get her Mom to agree to meet her at Alli’s favorite playground.  As Mikey and Denim approached Connie, he began to fidget.  He’d been wiggly the entire walk to the park, chattering up a storm about anything and everything from the weather to what they’d have for dinner.  But now as Constance looked up from the bench and saw him, his grip on Denim’s hand almost hurt.

She gave him a little squeeze then let go and he began rubbing his palm on his jeans.  Constance stiffened at sight of Michelangelo, her face shadowing over.  “What is the meaning of this?”

“Mommy!  Oh, yay!  You brought, Mikey!”  Allison squealed, her little arms pumping as she ran towards them. 

“Alli, don’t run, you might-” Denim called, waving her hands to stop Allison’s rush to get to them, but she was too late and Alli took a tumble.

Denim was a calm mom, and if it wasn’t a life threatening injury she always walked casually up to Alli, examined the wound then offered her comfort.  But as she took her first steps in Allison’s direction Michelangelo was already across the playground scooping her up and kissing her boo boos. 

Soon Alli’s tears turned to giggles.  She and Mikey waved at her then headed for the swings.  Denim eyed the empty spot on the bench beside Connie, and sat down. 

“I can’t believe you brought him.  Why are you doing this, Denim?  Look around, every parent here is afraid of him, afraid for their children.” Connie pointed to three parents who were watching Mikey, shaking their heads and hustling their kids from the playground. 

Denim sighed as she looked around.  She noticed another couple smiling as they watched Mikey and Alli playing.  Then another parent encouraged her child to go play with Allison, pointing to where Mikey was helping her cross the monkey bars.  As the other child approached Mikey looked for the girl’s parents.  They nodded their approval.  He smiled then helped the little girl. 

“It’s not everyone, Mom.  I have to believe there’s as much if not more of the open minded as there are the bigots.  See the difference is the open minded, they have couth, tact, class.  They know when to speak up, how to help, and they do it with grace.  That’s why you never hear about them.  They’re the real heroes, not looking for fame, just trying to make a difference.” 

Soon every kid left on the playground had gravitated to Mikey and Alli.  As Mikey was helping one of the children a man approached and the two started talking.  A few minutes later Denim could hear the human man laughing, and her heart soared. 

Karai’s words came to mind.  _It doesn’t so much get easier, but there are these moments in between the bullshit… you can really and truly be happy._

Connie’s voice was strained, “If it weren’t for _them_ you and Kyle would’ve never went to that damned war.  It would’ve never happened.  He’d still be here.” In her periphery Denim saw Connie put the back of her hand against her mouth.  “He’d get to see her grow up.”

Denim smiled through blurry eyes as she watched Michelangelo toss her daughter up in the air and blow raspberries on her belly.  Her little eyes were shut, her mouth open wide with little giggles piercing the air.  Denim’s heart ached for all she could not change, and it swelled with all the joy on her child’s face because with it there was hope.

“It’s not Mikey’s fault.  He didn’t do this.  He didn’t ask for any of it.  Mutants, many of them had this life thrust upon them, and others, others lost parts of their humanity becoming part animal.  They deserve happiness too.” Denim looked at her mother-in-law and frowned.  “When we left for boot camp, what did you say to Kyle?”

Connie stared at Denim, then her nostrils flared and she looked away.  “Things change.”

Denim nodded.  “Yes, I guess they do.”  She reached out a hand and placed it on the shoulder of the only woman she’d ever called Mom.  “Constance, I love you.  I’m sorry I failed Kyle.  I’m sorry I failed you.  But I’m not sorry for opening my heart, my home and my little family up to Michelangelo.  He’s pretty damn wonderful and if you’d just watch, just give him a chance… I don’t see how you could possibly disagree with that.”

Denim stood up and took a few steps before Connie’s voice came out a tight, uncertain and pitiful sound. 

“I told him I was proud of him for standing up for what he believed in.”

Tears burned Denim’s eyes. 

“Then honor him and support those he died fighting for.”

XOXOXOX

Michelangelo had enough energy to wear out a playground full of kids and that was no joke.  Alli slowed down to the point that she was dragging her little feet and hanging on Mikey’s arm.  She held her arms open and he scooped her up.  By the time he crossed the playground she was dozing off with her head on his shoulder.

“I’m sorry, Mrs. Sanders.  She’s falling asleep,” Mikey apologized as Connie stood up to take Alli.

The toddler whined, wrapping her arms tighter around his neck.  “I wanna go home with Mommy and Mikey,” she protested.

“Shhh, there now,” Constance helped Michelangelo extract Allison from around him. 

“She’s like a monkey and her grip is like Raph’s,” Mikey said, looking at Denim as he tried to unlatch Allison’s leg.  “I don’t even know how she’s doing it.”

Denim snickered.  “She’s like a leech.”

With Alli clinging to her Grandmother, Constance motioned to someone sitting on a bench across the playground.  The stranger stood up, waved to her and left. 

“He was supervising our visit today,” Connie said then looked Michelangelo in the eye.  “You seem like you genuinely care for Allison.  But how can you guarantee her safety?  Hm?  What’s to stop a crazy person from hurting all of you, just because of what you are?”

Michelangelo didn’t flinch.  His response was so seamless Denim thought he must’ve been rehearsing it in his mind for a while.  “Honestly, nothing.  But I’m a ninja, if that helps,” he rubbed the back of his head, “and I’d give my life to keep them safe.” 

Denim cringed when he mentioned being a ninja, but Connie didn’t move.

Mikey fidgeted, and the bow of his mouth was terrible, but he maintained her gaze.  Then his voice came out low and the sadness in it hurt, “I’m sorry Mrs. Sanders but, my life, that’s all I’ve got.”

Connie’s eye twitched.  “Yes.  I think maybe you would.”  She moved to turn away from him then paused, looked back with tears in her eyes.  “But then from what Denim tells me that’s what heroes do.  And I expect that’s the most any man can give.  I would know.”  Then she looked at Denim.  “I’ll speak to the social worker about dropping my petition for custody.  But Denim, nothing had better ever happen to her because of choices you make.”

 

 


	15. The Bull In Between

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Special thanks to Illusionna for beta-ing.

As Connie walked away with Alli sleeping on her shoulder, Michelangelo reached for Denim’s hand.  “Did she just?”

Denim’s heart soared.  She whipped around throwing her arms around his neck, smothering his face in kisses.  “Yes!! Yes! I think she did!”

They were both laughing, then their eyes met and Denim thought the whole world could fall away.  He pulled her close to him, kissed her, then whispered.  “I’m really glad I came today.”

She smiled against his lips.  “Me, too.  Are you hungry? We could-”

“Starved,” he cut her off, a big grin on his face.

They looked at each other.  “Murakami’s?” they said in unison.

Denim’s phone rang before they took their first step toward lunch.  She pulled it from her back pocket, looked down and saw who it was.  “Oh, it’s Leo.”

Michelangelo reached for the phone.  “What?  Are you sure our phones aren’t mixed up?”

“Very funny,” she said, then swiped his hand away and rolled her eyes.  She dragged her finger over the screen, but the second she tried to put the phone to her ear it was gone from her hand. 

She glared at Michelangelo.  “Give it back.”

He spoke _into_ the phone but _to_ her.  “No way.  Things are going great right now.  I don’t need you trying to go on some crazy mission with us and getting hurt.”   Then he disconnected the call and stuck the phone in his pocket.  “You can have this back once you promise not to get involved in that stuff.”

Denim crossed her arms.  “Uh-uh, no sir.  That is mine and you are going to give it back right now. Then you’re going to acknowledge that I am perfectly capable of handling myself.  I want to hear what Leo has to say.  And don’t misunderstand my role.  I’m stealthy, Mikey.  I’m the cover no one ever knows is there.  I don’t get down in the physical fight.  If I can help with anything it’s going to be from a distance.”

Michelangelo didn’t move.  “I just promised Connie I wouldn’t let anything happen to you, and you’re about to get Alli back.  All we have to do is avoid getting attacked in public, and teach Alli how to handle it when people start saying terrible things to her.” His face shadowed as he leaned over looking her in the eye.  “Because they will and I think that’s enough to deal with.  Don’t you?”

Denim narrowed her eyes.  “Don’t try to be right.”

“I am right,” he argued.

She thrust out her hand, palm up.  “Give me the phone, Michelangelo.”

“No.  And I’m not going to fight with you about this.  I’m,” he waved a hand and shook his head.  “I’m… going for a walk.  I’ll come by your place later and see if you’ve changed your mind.”

Denim’s teeth ground together.  “Give me the phone.  It’s mine and I need it.”

He turned and she grabbed his arm.  He scowled at her, looked at her fingers gripping his bicep, then in her eyes.  She released him, stepped back feeling stung.

 “I can’t believe this,” she grumbled, watching him walk away. 

She scoffed.  But he didn’t turn around and as seconds passed, he faded from sight and she was left standing there. 

“He seriously just walked off with my phone.”  She plopped down on the bench with a huff.  “I can’t believe he just walked off with my phone.”

She rubbed her face, tried to rehash the conversation, to figure out why he didn’t understand that she could help.  That she wanted to help.  Her blood simmered as she recalled the abuse they’d endured.  She needed to help _them_ , to quell the fire that burned inside _her_.  She took a deep breath and ran a hand through her hair.

She could go to the dojo, but there was no guarantee Leo was either there or at his apartment… and she had no way to reach him to arrange a meeting.  Ugh.  How could she make Mikey understand? 

Well, how else was she going to spend her afternoon if she couldn’t find Leo, and Mikey was mad at her, and Alli was gone for the day… she didn’t have a job to go to… A job.  Shit.  She had to find a job.

She got off the bench and headed for the subway. 

XOXOXOX

The sun was going down, her feet were throbbing, and her head pounding when Denim finally arrived outside her tenement.  She’d found a job though, one that was mutant friendly and even paid a little commission.  It was an improvement.

Now, if she could just make things right with Mikey, life might be getting back on track.  But as she rounded the third set of stairs, her skin pricked.  She looked around and didn’t notice anything out of the ordinary, but she couldn’t shake the feeling.  When she reached the landing of her floor, she found her front door busted in. 

“Dammit,” she cursed, eyeing the splintered wood where the handle had been.   

“It’s clear, there’s no one in there.  They’ve gone,” said a calm, quiet voice from the other end of the hall.

Denim’s eyes searched the shadows in the corner pockets of the hall, where the stairwells were.  They were the only place he could be.  Not that the lighting in the tenement was that great. 

Leo almost seemed to materialize, shirtless, bandana wearing and apparently sword carrying.  Just seeing the hilt of them jutting out of their scabbard over the top of his carapace made her shiver.  There was something intimidating about steel that could run through you like you’re melted butter all on its own.  But put two swords in the hands of a massive mutant turtle and just about anyone she could imagine would be intimidated.

“We need to talk,” he said.

Denim stared at him then looked in her doorway bracing herself to really see the damage.  Her apartment had been wrecked.  Pictures lie shattered on the floor amid piles of movies, throw pillows, blankets, and an overturned coffee table.  She didn’t have much to begin with, but what little she did have was either destroyed or gone.  She looked to where her small flat-screen TV had been, but only a smashed pressboard stand remained.  Her heart settled somewhere so low she thought it might actually reach her shoelaces.  She wished the moments of happiness lasted longer than the bullshit in between, because there seemed to be plenty of it and it was exhausting. 

She stepped inside, with Leo behind her, and waded through the debris. 

“We need to talk,” he repeated, but did not elaborate. 

She wondered if he realized how vague he was being, then thought maybe he did it on purpose, thinking it would get her attention.  She tossed couch cushions aside, sighed and looked at him.  “Leo, has anyone ever told you that sometimes you sound like Batman?”  She went so far as to imitate him.  “We need to focus.  We need to talk.  We need to-”

His mask bunched then his eyes lit up.  “Really?”  

He sounded so young in that moment, that despite being ankle deep in her own belongings, cushions shredded, lamp shattered, she busted out laughing.  “Oh, my.  Are you kidding me right now?  That, _that_ , makes you crack?  Seriously?”  She waved a hand at him.  “Get to the point, Bat-Turtle.  Maybe tell me why you’re here and if you happened to see who did this?”

The smile fell from her face as she glanced down the hall.  There pinned to her bedroom door was Alli’s pink turtle.  Her heart picked up an erratic beat.

“She’s okay,” Leo assured her, looking over her shoulder.  “Mikey called Connie, then me the second he saw your door.  Then he went looking for you, worried they’d taken you.” Leo shook his head. “Raph went after him, because he doesn’t even know where to look.  But since you’re here, I’ll text him and let him know you’re all right.”

Denim marched down the hall, pausing to grab a hand towel out of her bathroom before stopping at her bedroom door.  She wrapped the towel around the knife handle. “Call the police.  Call the detective I met the other night at Murakami’s, call somebody to fix this shit, because I am sick of it!  They’ve fucked with my life, Mikey’s life, my daughters, and I- have- had- it.” 

She yanked the knife, but as it sprang free, dropping the pink turtle to the floor, the momentum of its release sent her flying backward into Leo.  He caught the towel covered knife in one hand and her in his other.  Then a whole bunch of things happened at once. 

“What detective?” Leo asked.

At the same time Mikey called from the living room, “Guys!  Something’s wrong with Raph!  We were on our way back and-”

“Okay, I just fired it from the roof and I’ve got good news and bad news,” Donnie announced climbing in the living room window. 

Leo and Denim looked at each other.

“Okay,” Leo nodded, “first we find out what that’s about, then you and me talk.”

Denim didn’t respond, darting around him and rushing into the living room. 

The second Mikey saw her, he swept her up in his arms and started rambling, “Oh gosh, I’m so glad you’re okay!  I got here and the apartment was trashed. Then I freaked out and wanted to call you, but I couldn’t, because I took your phone.  So I went looking for you.” He squeezed her so tight she thought she might pop then he set her down. “And we need to talk about your landlord.  He’s a jerk.  Why didn’t you tell me you couldn’t have mutants here anymore?  You gotta tell me stuff like that, Blue Jeans.  And do you know how many attornies are calling your phone wanting to represent you?  They call me too, but Karai set me up with one.  I’ll give you her number, if you want.” Then he swept her up again. “I’m so glad you’re okay.  Let’s never argue again, okay?  Cas’ it-”

“Mikey!” Leo interrupted him.

“Uh, guys-” Donnie squeaked.

Denim’s mind was swimming with everyone trying to talk over one another. 

Michelangelo put her down.  “Uh, yeah?” he asked, looking Denim over then glancing at Leo then to Donnie then back to Denim. “You sure you’re okay?  You’re not hurt?”

“I’m fine,” she replied, pinching between her eyes.

Mikey made a face. “Oh, Leo does that, too.  Are you getting a headache?”

“Mikey!” Leo almost yelled.  “Can we focus here?”

Mikey’s eyes shifted to Leo.  “Sure, but we might need to go get Raph.”

Leo pinched between his eyes.

Mikey pointed to him and looked at Denim.  “See! He totally does it too!”

“Uh, guys?” Donnie tried again.

Denim blinked.  How did they get anything accomplished like this?

Leo took a deep breath and exhaled.  “Okay, Donnie first.”

 “But this could be impor-” Now it was Mikey’s turn to try and get attention.

Only Donnie cut him off.  “My turn?  Me?  Oh, good.  Well, funny thing, he-he-”

 Denim couldn’t take it anymore.  “Oh for crying out loud,” she groaned throwing back her head.  “This is going to take all night.  What, what is it Donnie, you can do it, spit it out.”

Donatello glared at her.  “Well, if you’re going to be like that-”

“Donnie!  What is it?” Leo insisted.

Donatello let out a nervous giggled then sucked in a breath.  “I might’ve shot Raph with a tranquilizer dart.”

Leo and Denim looked at Donnie as Mikey exclaimed, “Oh! So that’s what’s wrong with him.  Oh, well okay then.  He’ll be all right, uh, right?”

“You what?” Leo asked.  “Why would you do that, Don?”

Donnie’s amber eyes widened.  “Oh, I was testing the new tranq gun I made for Denim.  It was an accident, the trigger is really sensitive.”

Denim’s eyes widened.  “You did what?”

“And you shot, Raph?” Leo straightened, closed his eyes and pinched between them again.  “Where’d you leave him, Mikey?”

Michelangelo rubbed the back of his head.  “Uh, in the alley downstairs.  You know he’s heavy, right?”

“Well that explains a lot.” Came a sly voice from the front door.  Karai let out a low whistle as she took in the damage.  “Love what you’ve done with the place, Denim.”  She motioned behind her as she approached Leo, her nose wrinkling as she told him, “I thought that was a weird place for Raph to take a nap.”

Leo pinched between his eyes again and exhaled.  “Guys, we have got to get it together.  Donnie, how long till the tranq wears off?”

Donnie shrugged.  “An hour or two?”

Leo’s shoulders slumped.  “I’ll go get him.”

“You do that, Leo,” Karai winked. 

Donnie raised a hand.  “I’m just going to go get my laptop out of the van, and call April and Master Splinter let them know Denim’s okay.”

Leo said nothing as he walked by Karai, Donnie right behind him.  She looked at Denim.  “So did you call the cops yet?”

Denim let out an ironic laugh.  “Uh, no.  It has been madness since I got home.”

Mikey’s arms appeared around her waist and he rested his chin on the top of her head.  “I’m just glad she’s okay.”

“ _Right_.  Well, want me to call the cops?”  Karai offered.  “Before we completely contaminate the crime scene?”  Her brow furrowed.  “Hey, have you called Casey yet?”

“No.  Good news there.  Connie said she’d withdraw her petition for custody.”  Denim’s voice dropped considerably, “At least there _was_ good news before this.”

“Uh, I think you should call Casey, just in case.  She can withdraw the petition, but the courts are involved now.  They’ll consider whatever she says, but ultimately now it’s up to them to decide.”  Karai motioned around the room.  “And _this_ is _not_ a good sign.”

Denim tracked Karai’s hand around the room. There were holes in the walls, papers strewn everywhere, even her glasses and plates were smashed on her kitchen floor.  It _didn’t_ look good, and if they called the police it would be documented.  “Maybe we shouldn’t call the police.”

“Oh no, we should.” Donnie announced, holding his laptop up in one hand.  “Found it.  Master Splinter says he’s glad you’re okay and April is on her way over.  Leo’s called a meeting.”

“Ungh, yes, Leo has,” Leo panted, “Uh, Don, can you move, Raph isn’t light.”

“Oh, sure, Leo.” Donnie wove his way through the small living room, stepping over debris on his way to the kitchen.

“A little help, Mikey?” Leo grunted, as he stepped in the doorway with Raph in a fireman’s carry across the back of his shell. 

“On it,” Mikey replied, releasing Denim and helping Leo drape Raph across the cushion-less couch. 

“Karai, did you call the police?” Leo asked looking across the room, setting his eyes straight on her like he could sense her location.

She was on the phone and held up a finger.  She asked whoever she was speaking to hold on then announced, “I’ve got three calls to make.  This is going to take a while.”

No one responded and she went back to her conversation.  Denim looked around her.  Mikey was helping Leo with Raph, and Donnie was doing something to her kitchen table to get it to stand on all fours again.  Her apartment was filled with Hamato’s, all of them doing something in the midst of a disaster area and it seemed so normal for them. 

Denim gravitated down the hall, pushed open her bedroom door and felt like she’d taken a punch.  Her clothes were strewn everywhere, drawers broken, dresser overturned.  Her mattress had been shredded, her bedding ripped, but it was her little girls clothes, her toys broken, and her badly damaged little bed that really hurt.  Denim sank to her knees, wrapping her fingers around the pink turtle Alli loved so much.  What if she’d been with her, and they’d been home when whoever did this came?  What then?

“I can’t keep her safe,” Denim cried.  Her shoulders shook and her heart shuddered.  “I can’t keep her safe.”

“Yes, you can, Blue Jeans.  We can.  We’ll do what you and Leo said and once we set things right it will get better.”  Mikey sat beside her and pulled her into his lap.  He kissed the top of her head.  “It’s gonna be a bumpy ride, but we’ll get there.”

 

 

 

 


	16. Keep Your Enemy Closer

 

Police were everywhere.  Hamatos where everywhere.  Yet, Denim felt like she was watching from a distance while everyone worked on one thing or another around her.  She didn’t recognize any of the officers from the night they were attacked, and generally speaking, they were all very friendly, albeit there was a lot of scolding about the crime scene being disrupted. 

Denim was talking to Mikey about trying to find some paper and a pen to write down everything that was missing, when Detective Kemp interrupted them.  She recognized Kemp but not the plain clothed man with him.

“Why am I not surprised,” Kemp said, holding out his hand to Denim.  “I see you decided not to take any of the advice I gave you.

Denim met him with an even gaze.

“Who are you?” Mikey asked the detective, while stepping closer to Denim. 

“Detective Kemp, Hate Crimes, and you must be, Michelangelo Hamato.” Kemp offered his hand to Mikey when Denim didn’t take it. 

“The one and only,” Mikey chirped accepting the man’s hand.  Denim half wondered if Mikey might shake the devil’s hand if he offered it to him.  He’d gone from suspicious to friendly with the slightest polite gesture of a total stranger.  Maybe it was because he was a detective, Denim wasn’t sure. But after all that had happened to them, she wasn’t as ready to make friends with the first guy to act like he wanted to help. 

“Jason Abrams, Internal Affairs,” the balding man with Kemp said to Denim.  “We’ve opened a case based on evidence Detective Kemp sent to my office.  I’d like to ask you some questions.”

She stared at his thick mustache.  She couldn’t see his upper lip for it and for some reason, she associated him with creepy because of it.  Her voice came out hollow.  “How can I help you, Mr. Abrams?”  

Mustache Guy and Kemp launched into a thirty minute session of questions about her job, the people she worked with, her apartment, and what happened the night at Murakami’s.  By the time they left, Denim was exhausted.  Mikey however, seemed pleased that someone had taken an interest in their case.  April had arrived, Karai was off the phone, Raph was coming around and Donnie was sticking close to Leo.

“What the hell?” Raph groaned. 

Mikey was hanging the DVD shelf back on the wall and stopped to smile at his brother.  “Welcome back, bro.”

Raph grumbled something then sat up rubbing his head.  “I said,” he growled, “What hit me?”

Everyone was mid-clean-up project and stopped to look at Donatello.  Raph scanned his family, pinpointing his nerdy brother. 

Denim made a mental note to ask Donnie why he’d made her a tranquilizer gun and how he’d even done it… She kind of wanted to see it…. But later, when it was less likely fuel what appeared to be Raph’s fire.

“It was an accident,” Donnie held his hands up in surrender.  “It was-”

“What’d you do?” Raph snarled, moving to get to his feet but his legs buckled beneath him.  He caught himself on the broken coffee table and it collapsed to the floor.  “What’d you do to me, Brainiac?”

Mikey laughed and Denim elbowed him.  He looked at her and her eyes widened as if to hush him. 

“Y-y-yeah, I uh,” Donnie motioned to Denim, “I made Denim a tranquilizer gun and I was adjusting the scope when I bumped the trigger and-”

“You shot me?” Raph yelled. 

Donnie flinched.  “It was an accident.”

“Okay, Raph.  Donnie’s sorr-” Leo held up a hand to begin his lecture but Raph cut him off.

“Oh, he’s gonna be sorry as soon as my legs work.  Damn things feel like they’re asleep.”  He sank back on his haunches, hauling himself back on the couch.  He looked around then tipped his chin at Denim.  “You okay?”

She nodded. 

“Can we focus, please?” Leo pinched between his eyes and Denim thought maybe Leo’s headaches were either more frequent or worse than hers.  He took a deep breath and his shoulders relaxed a little.  “I’m trying to hold a meeting,” he said.

“Well, no one’s stopping you,” Karai announced.  Everyone either nodded or shrugged.

Leo looked at her.

“What?” She smirked.

“Not helping,” he told her.  “We need to talk about what’s happening to Mikey and Denim.  First, we list all that has happened then we make a plan.”  Leo motioned everyone to take a seat and they gathered around the couch since Raph couldn’t stand yet.

“So here’s what we’ve got,” he began, “Both of them have charges against them.  We need evidence to get those dropped.  Mr. Murakami has security footage that the police took, but it’s missing from evidence.  We need to find whoever took it and get it back.  With the way Denim is being harassed, I say we start with her and Donnie doing some research.”

Michelangelo let out a protesting whine and Leo assured him, “Right there at the kitchen table from his laptop.  She’ll be fine, Mikey.”  He looked at Denim.  “Although, I don’t think you should stay here by yourself anymore.”

“And per her landlord, I can’t stay here with her or she’ll get evicted,” Mikey complained.  He wrapped an arm around her and grinned.  “But you can stay with me.”

Denim smiled at him.  That wasn’t a terrible plan.  The idea of staying there after someone had touched all of her and Alli’s personal belongings felt almost like an assault.  She rubbed her fingers against her palms.  She’d have to sanitize everything that survived, and wash their clothes like three times… maybe, or maybe burn them and just buy new ones.

Mikey glanced at his roommate.  “That all right with you, Raph?”

Raphael rolled his eyes.  “I swear if you two are half as loud as Leo and Karai-”

“ _Thank you_ , Raphael,” Leo interrupted him and Karai snickered. 

“S’fine,” Raph relented.

“No, it’s not,” Donnie shook his head.  “I mean, let me clarify.  It’s none of my business where Denim stays, but what Mikey is saying is illegal.”  Donnie looked at his little brother.  “What do you mean you can’t stay here, because her landlord won’t let you?”

 “There was a note on my door the other night,” Denim announced, rubbing her face.  “It referred to my lease agreement, reminding me they don’t rent to mutants, but its fine for you guys to visit, unless there’s a complaint.  They said there was a complaint and those privileges were revoked.  Then I had Mikey over the other night and I guess someone complained again, so this time the super must’ve called.”  She looked at Mikey. “If _someone_ hadn’t taken my phone, I could’ve just not answered it.”

Mikey’s eye ridges rose.  “You do that a lot, don’t you?  You had like a bazillion calls from lawyers wanting to represent you.”

Denim rolled her eyes.  “Why do you think I quit answering the phone?”

April shook her head.  “Denim, you need to answer your calls right now.  Not dealing with issues won’t resolve them.”

 “Hold it.  We’re getting off track.” Leo held up a hand.  “Donnie, put that on a list of things for you and Denim to research.  Something sounds off about that whole thing.  That kind of policy isn’t legal anymore.  We’re supposed to have the same rights as everyone else now.”  Leo straightened.  “This isn’t two years ago.  We have rights and we’re going to protect them.  Which leads us to the next issue.” He looked at Denim.  “You said you were attacked by the security guard at work and that you lost your job for no reason?”

Denim nodded and Mikey wrapped an arm around her waist. 

“You need an attorney,” Leo told her. “You’ve got to fight all of this, Denim.  Contact the police, and press charges against the guard.  Donnie-” 

“I know.  We need security footage.” Donnie nodded, typing away on his laptop.  “But you already know they can’t just fire her like that either, right?”

“Exactly,” Leo nodded, “so will you-”

“It’s on the list.” Donatello’s tongue peeked out from his lip as he worked.

“Okay so, you need an attorney,” Leo told her.  “Karai?”

“Already called her.  We’re having lunch with her and Casey, to go over everything,” Karai looked at Denim, a sly smile on her red lips.  “Lara is handling Mikey’s case, too.  She’ll take care of everything.” 

“And Casey takes care of Alli.  Nice job, Karai.” Leo nodded.

“So if Karai is going to these meetings-” Raph began, but April cut him off.

“I’m going too,” she announced then looked at Donatello, “and so is Donnie.  We promised we’d help her get Alli back and we’ll see that all the way through.”

Raph nodded.  “And I’m assuming where Denim goes-”

“Mikey goes,” Michelangelo announced.

Denim giggled at the enthusiasm in his voice.  It’d been a long night and yet he was as optimistic as ever.  _My own personal sunshine._  

“Right,” Raph looked at Leo, “so where does that leave us?”

Leo smiled.  “Well, if Donnie finds us a lead, you and I are going in search of missing footage.”

XOXOXOX

Donnie set up shop at the kitchen table. He’d repaired it well enough to make it stand, but like a lot of things, Denim knew she’d need a new one.  She and Mikey were sitting around it with him, preparing to go over the facts, while the rest of the family set to work trying to put her apartment back together.  No one could move in a specific direction until they had a lead, so they were counting on the three of them to come up with one. 

She knew they must all be tired, she was emotionally and mentally drained.  But Mikey had found her coffee pot, remarkably undamaged, cleaned it and set to brewing. 

"Uh, Denim, what did you say your superintendent’s name is?"  Donnie asked, in between mouse clicks.  
  
Mikey handed her a cup of coffee, slipped into the chair beside her and answered Donnie, "The guy I talked to said his name was Larry... Larry, uh, I can't remember his last name."  
  
Denim pressed her brow against the side of the mug, the heat easing the ache in her head.  "I don't remember his name, Something, Something I'm An Asshole, maybe?"  
  
Mikey snickered, but Donnie wasn't amused.  He glanced at her from behind his laptop. "Do you still have the notice?"  
  
Denim sighed.  "Yeah, maybe, somewhere in this mess." She put her mug on the table, fairly certain she was getting a migraine, but more than confident about something else.  "His name definitely wasn't Larry."  
  
Donnie stopped typing and looked at her.  "Was it Alex Dawson, or Lucas Fines?"  
  
Denim and Mikey answered at the same time.  
  
"Nope."  
  
"Definitely not."  
  
Donnie frowned.  "Mikey, I need you to remember his last name, and Denim, I need you to look for that notice."  
  
Denim slumped in her chair, looked at a smiling Mikey, who motioned her on with his head.  “Fine,” she sighed. 

Fortunately, April had made two separate stacks of papers.  One was of things she felt looked important and the other of things that looked to be mostly Alli’s artwork.  It didn’t take long for Denim to find the notice and take it back to Donnie. 

He looked at it a few minutes then announced.  "Okay, this isn't real.  Look." Donnie turned his monitor so Denim could see it. "This is the letterhead and logo for the company that owns this building.  It’s not the same as your notice.  And there's nothing in their lease agreement about not renting to mutants.  There's a clause about repetitive complaints including criminal behavior resulting in eviction, but they say nothing about mutants, it applies to everyone. Didn't you say you remembered there being a clause?"    
  
There had been, she was sure of it.  She stood up then sat right back down.  
  
"You okay, Blue Jeans?"  Mikey asked reaching out and taking her hand.  
  
She rubbed her fingers over the calluses on his palms.  "Well, I _was_ going to go get a copy of my lease and look at it, but I would’ve seen it in the stack of important papers and I didn’t."   
  
"That's okay, they scan them in.  I'll just look it up."  Donnie went right back to typing.  
  
Denim stared at him.  "You know that whole hacking thing is totally creepy right?"  
  
Mikey chuckled.  "And yet totally effective."  
  
"Well, that's weird,” Donnie stopped typing. “Of course their policies could have changed since you moved in two years ago.  We didn’t have the rights back then we do now.  Yep, that's it, the lease is different. You're right, Denim they did used to have a policy of not renting to mutants.  But there was no policy, and nothing in your lease about the stuff mentioned in that notice.  And..." He cracked his knuckles and grinned. "The super of this building is Jay Davis, neither of the names you two gave me."  
  
"Then who’s threatening your home, Blue Jeans?"  Mikey squirmed while Donnie kept hacking.   
  
Denim lowered her head to the table and closed her eyes.  "I have no idea, Mikey."  
  
"Well, it's not Clarence Abbott, the guy from the notice," Donnie said. 

“Abbott!  That was Larry’s last name!” Mikey announced.

“Well, it’s not him,” Donnie repeated.

Denim lifted her head in time to see him turning the computer again and pointing to a picture on the screen.  "He died two years ago in the Mutant Liberation War.  He was on the opposition."    
  
Denim was sure her heart stopped.  "Oh, gods."  
  
"What?" Mikey and Don asked.  
  
Denim remembered the face of every target she'd ever been assigned.  But this face, suddenly registered with her in two different ways.  "I killed him.  I mean, he was a target.  And now that I'm looking at him, I can't believe I didn't see the resemblance before."  
  
Donnie and Mikey both leaned toward her, eye ridges raised.  " _Befooore_ what?"   
  
Denim's stomach turned.  Her enemy had been so close.  He could've killed her countless times.  Her head spun.  He'd been toying with her, torturing her and them..."He looks exactly like his father, only younger."    
  
"Well, come on, Blue Jeans the suspense is killing me!"  Mikey almost came out of his chair.  
  
Denim swallowed her rising fear.  “Keith Lowry the security guard from the store."

 


	17. Who Does It Better?

Leo stuck his head in the kitchen and glanced at Donnie.  “Any news?”

Donnie’s fingers were flying over the laptop, his eyes wide and his tongue seeming to reach for his nostrils as it kept slipping farther and farther from his mouth. 

Raph stepped around Leo, walked up behind Donnie and whacked him over the back of his head.  Donnie’s eyes scrunched in pain. “Ow, Raph!”

Denim sat upright, half wondering if her tiny kitchen wasn’t going to become a wrestling ring.  Mikey scooted his chair up alongside hers like he was ready to be a spectator. 

“That’s what you get for shooting me!  How do you screw up like that, huh?” Raph feigned a lunge and Donnie flinched. 

“Raph, not now,” Leo waved him off. 

Raph gave way but with flames in his eyes.  “I ain’t done with him,” he grumbled, stomping from the kitchen.

“Any progress?” April called from the entry.  She saw Donnie rubbing the back of his head.  “Raph, he said it was an accident.  You didn’t have to hit him!”  She walked over and kissed the back of Donnie’s head and his mouth tipped up into a little smirk.

“He’s lucky that’s all I did!” Raph fired back.

April shook her head and pointed to Donnie’s computer screen.  “Hey, aren’t those the guys from the video that started all of this?”

“Sure are.  This is Alex Dawson, and that is Lucas Fines.  Both are members of an underground anti-mutant group.  They call themselves The Untainted.  And this guy, Keith Lowry is their co-founder.  He’s ex-military, supported the destruction of, I quote, ‘abominations before they end the human race.’  He thinks we are out to mutate humanity.”  Donnie frowned at the screen.  “It does not say who their leader is, the just refer to him as The JJE. 

Raph stuck his head back in the kitchen.  “Does it say where he lives?  I need to kick somebody’s ass if I ain’t allowed to kick yours.”

Karai snickered as she came alongside him.  “Oh, keep your bandanna on.  You’ll get to hurt someone eventually.”

Raph grumbled and Leo was about to say something when Donnie’s mouth fell open.  “Oh, no, oh, that’s not good.”

April stood behind him, eyes widening.  “Oh,” she covered her face, looked away. “Is that a hidden page?  That’s murder…  That’s, _evidence_.”

“Yes.  It’s a backdoor page.  Only members with a code can see this.”  Donnie put a hand over the screen and moved to lower it.

Leo stepped forward, pushing it back open.  “What is it?”

“What is it?” Mikey echoed, standing from his chair.  Karai and Raph stepped forward craning to see.  Denim swallowed, her butt was anchored to her seat.  She wasn’t sure she wanted to know and, right as she decided she didn’t, Raph announced.  “Is that Denim?”

Mikey pushed his way by Raph.  Leo stepped back and let him see.  Michelangelo scowled at the laptop.  “Is that a wanted list?”

Denim didn’t want to look and put her head on the table. 

“That’s not a wanted list, Mikey.” Donnie croaked.  “That’s a hit list, and they’re recording their kills.”

Everyone was looking at her.  She could feel the weight of their stares as heavy as the odd thump of her heart.  She shivered and her stomach clenched.  So Keith Lowry wanted her dead for killing his son.  But how did he know she’d done it?  Unless… she lifted her chin, avoiding Mikey’s eyes, and looked at Donnie.  “They’re killing off all the snipers from the war, aren’t they?”

Donnie nodded. 

Denim’s chest constricted and she bit her lip, desperate to hold in a sob.  She looked to the wall beside her, eyes welling.  Shooting had been the only thing she’d ever been good at.  But she hadn’t thought the killing part through when she’d followed Kyle on his own personal crusade.  Not until it turned out she was the better shot and the primary shooter.  She covered her mouth, tears slipping away.  If it weren’t for Alli she might believe she deserved a father’s revenge on the woman that killed his son.  But it hadn’t been personal, it was war, it was her job, her duty, her assignment. 

“Donnie,” she choked, then held her breath.  Keeping her eyes on the wall, chin down and body shaking, she swallowed hard and tried again.  “What do you know about Clarence Abbott?”

All she knew was his name and face.  She wasn’t told anything else.  It wasn’t for her to decide if he lived or died.  It was war.  _It was war._   Her shoulders shook and a sob erupted.  _It was war._   Michelangelo’s arms were around her, pulling her from the chair.

“Okay, we’re not doing that,” he said softly, as she clung to him, openly weeping. 

“I deserve it, I deserve it, I killed sons, and daughters, and-” She sniffled and choked, trying to stop the endless wave erupting from her.  Had she ever cried over what she’d done?  Had she given it thought or just stopped seeing people, only targets.  Her stomach rolled. 

Mikey carried her to her bedroom and set her to her feet, holding her up. 

“Mikey, let me talk to her,” Leo offered.

Michelangelo didn’t answer Leo right away, instead held her close until the sobs subsided.  “Nah, Leo,” he said finally, “I get it.  I got this.  I’ve seen the same stuff you have.”  He kissed the top of Denim’s head.  “I got you.”

XOXOXOX

Denim couldn’t remember a recent time when she hadn’t cried herself to sleep, maybe the night she’d spent with Mikey, but other than that...  She felt springs in her side, jutting up from her slashed mattress.  Mikey had covered her with a blanket that seemed to have escaped damage.  She rubbed her fingers over the soft fleece, grateful that it was spared.  Connie had bought it for her when she was pregnant with Alli.  She’d wrapped herself in the pink and white polka-dotted cover and cried herself to sleep many a night, but it was warm and it comforted her. 

Her room was dark, a strip of gold bleeding under the cracked door.  A small beam of moonlight filtered through her semi-closed blinds.  She preferred the natural light over the artificial, found it soothing.  She stared at the little dust motes swirling in the faint, white beams.  There were voices from the kitchen.  She inhaled, felt sleep heavy in her chest, and knew she hadn’t been out that long. 

“Because Mikey, until we take care of everything, she _is_ in danger.  She may as well help if she can and, to be honest,” there was a hint of hesitancy and Leo’s voice dropped, “she might need more than a tranquilizer gun.”

“No, she won’t, Leo, because we need to get her and Alli somewhere safe.” 

Denim had never heard Michelangelo sound so downright serious.  There was a hint of warning to his voice that had her pulling her blanket tighter around her. 

Leo’s words echoed in her head, ‘ _She might need more than a tranquilizer gun.’_   She still hadn’t seen the gun Donnie made for her or had a chance to talk to him about why he made it in the first place.  Pretty, and her little brothers, were plenty enough to protect her.  Denim’s heart ground to a halt.  _Pretty._   “Oh, god, my guns!”

She threw back the covers, scrambling from the bed and ran to her closet.  She yanked on the chain, her eyes roving the empty shelves, then shoving away the clothes April had hung for her.  She threw shoes boxes, opening them then tossing them against the wall.  Her eyes darted over the contents.

“What’s, uh- what’s goin’ on, Blue Jeans?” Mikey asked from behind her.

Denim’s stomach lurched.  She wheeled, pushing past Michelangelo and looking under her bed.  “She’s gone.  Pretty’s gone.  My gun, my rifle and two more of my guns, are gone.”  She sank back on her haunches, looking open-mouthed at Michelangelo.

“What’s wrong?” Raph asked from the door.

Denim rubbed her face, wiped away tears she didn’t know she’d cried, and took a few steps toward Michelangelo.   She stopped, squinting at the odd red light reflecting off her shirt. 

Mikey and Raph lunged at her simultaneously.  She heard the shot, felt immense weight crushing her, then another shot and yelling.  Michelangelo’s arm was in her back, but she was pretty sure that was Raph’s hand over the top of her head.  She couldn’t breathe for the weight on her lungs, her healing ribs screaming their protests. 

Raph rolled to the right and the pressure lightened, then Mikey rolled to her left and she sucked in fresh air. 

The room was darker, there were no lights from the hall or kitchen now.  “You okay?” Michelangelo asked in a hushed tone.

“You guys okay?” Raph echoed.

Both stayed close to the floor and, as Denim lifted her head, both turtles put a hand on her shoulders. 

“Not yet,” they said in unison.

“Leo?” Raph called to his brother.

“Anyone hit?” Leo replied from down the hall.

Raph glanced at Denim, then Mikey, both shaking their heads no. “We’re good in here,” he answered.  “How bout’ you?”

Leo’s voice was getting closer.  “No injuries.  Stay low, it’s time to leave.”

“Where we goin’?  We can’t lead these assholes home.” Raph hunched low, kept glancing toward the shattered window pane, then searching the path of moonlight. 

Leo was a shadow she’d have never identified if he wasn’t speaking.  “We’re splitting up.  You and I are doing some recon on Keith Lowry and The Untainted.  Everyone else has appointments to get ready for.  Denim and Mikey go to the police station, report what just happened.  If they offer protection you take it.  Even if you don’t think you need it.  Have them escort you back to Mikey’s so you can shower and rest before your appointments.  April, Karai, and Denim will go out wearing hoodies, so they don’t know which one is which.  If we split up, but stay in pairs, they have to choose a target.”

“The shell game?” Mikey asked, hooking an arm around Denim and pulling her close.  He got to his feet but kept them both low. 

Leo’s nod was nearly imperceptible. 

To Denim’s surprise, Mikey and Raph were trading shirts.  “Uh, guys?”

Mikey’s eye ridges rose and fell, a big grin on his face.  “Relax, Blue Jeans.” He then made an attempt at a deep voice that almost had her rolling. “Don’t worry, Hot Chick, Raph will protect you.”  He leaned close, his lips brushing her ear.  “But don’t try hittin’ on me or nothin’ right now, cas’ it’d be wrong.”

“I don’t sound like that!” Raph hissed.

“No, that was a perfect imitation of Leo’s,” Denim made a deep voice that had Mikey laughing, “I’m Batman voice.”

“Are you two seriously joking right now?” Raph shook his head and glanced into the shadow.  “Leo, are you seeing this?” He glanced at Denim, “And by the way it’s me that does Batman’s voice.”

“My Batman voice is better,” Leo countered.

“Gah!” Raph waved a hand in Leo’s direction, while Denim and Mikey snickered.

Leo stepped forward enough that Denim could actually see him.  “All right, let’s move.”

XOXOXOX

When they left her apartment Denim decided she was too tired to go the police station.  It would take hours and she just needed a break from one day before diving into the next.  She promised Mikey they’d do it first thing after a nap and a shower.  After the night they’d had, he reluctantly agreed. 

The walk to Mikey and Raph’s place was short and thankfully quiet.  The sun was rising and the city was awakening from her semi-slumber. The morning air was cool against Denim’s face.  They’d wanted April, Karai and Denim to trade clothes but Denim had refused.  It was one thing for them all to wear hoodies, covering their heads.  But she wasn’t letting anything happen to either of them on account of her.  She understood the idea of making it seem like they had scattered but there was no way she was risking her new friends on a case of mistaken identity.  If Keith Lowry was going to shoot her, with what she suspected was probably her own rifle, well it was going to be the real her.

Denim sighed and Mikey’s fingers twitched as if he wanted to reach for her but remembered he wasn’t playing the part of himself.  He reached in his pants pocket and handed Denim her phone.  “You keep leaving this out and you still aren’t answering your calls.”  He pointed to his apartment building and she veered left heading up the front steps. 

Denim shoved it in her pocket.  Mikey held the door open for her and pointed up.  The elevator was marked out of service, the building was old, and the interior paint fading but the high ceilings and carved woodwork were beautiful. 

“Top floor,” he said with a playful grin, “best view.”  He laughed at himself and she smirked, knowing the only view was of surrounding buildings. 

She watched him almost float up the stairs, lifted her gaze and saw they had ten flights to climb.  Had she slept she might’ve been up for the competition shining in his eyes.  He paused at the top of the first flight as she took her third step and urged her on. 

“Come on, don’t make me carry your sleepy butt,” he grinned and she gave him a dirty look, but the corners of her mouth tipped up just the same.  He probably would carry her. 

When she looked at him again, from the bottom of the second flight, he was three flights ahead of her, peering over the rail.  “You comin’ or what?”

Oh, the sparkle in those blue eyes of his.  She hoped they’d get all of this crap sorted out, so she could spend some real uninterrupted, un-terrorized time with him. 

As she reached the last step, she found him leaning against his apartment door, scrolling through his phone.  “Everyone’s checked in, they all made it home okay.  Leo and Raph are stalking Keith.  See how he likes it for a change.”  He shoved his phone back in his pocket and lifted one eye ridge.  “So, uh, heyyy girlll, welcome to my crib,” he walked up to her, put a hand on her hip and guided her close.  “You wanna,” he glanced toward the door and back to her, “wanna come in?”

Denim gave him an ironic look. 

His expression seemed suspended for long seconds before it fell.  “Right,” he pointed to the door, “now’s probably not the time.”

She was exhausted, her calves burning from the climb, her ribs aching from having two of them crash land on her, and her soul was filled with enough regrets to last two lifetimes. But her heart, it burned like a forest of redwoods.  She reached up, grabbed the sides of his face and planted her mouth on his.  He stumbled back, bumping his shell against the door but caught up quick, his hands sliding over her in all the right places.  She moaned into him, slipping her hands under the red shirt, her fingertips dragging along his bridge.  One green hand fumbled for his doorknob.

“Don’t you need to unlock it?” she gasped in between kisses, and tugging on his belt buckle.  He whimpered when she unzipped his fly and slipped her hand in his pants.  She heard the sound of something snapping and broke away from him in time to see him holding the doorknob in one hand. 

Her eyes widened and she looked from the handle to him.  “What’d you do?”

“Me?” he squeaked, then glanced down to where his jeans were sliding down his legs.  “I’m half naked in the hallway.” He shook his head and feigned glaring at her. “I told you _not_ to seduce me while I’m Raph.”

She grabbed the hem of his shirt, laughing as she yanked it upward.  “I don’t give a damn about the shirt, you goofball.”

He hooked an arm around her waist and backed into the apartment.  Closing the door with one foot he spun her around pinning her to it.  “You don’t?” he asked while tugging the shirt off.

Denim ran her fingers over his scuffed plastron, skipping over to trace his biceps as she reached for his shoulders.  “No, the shirt doesn’t make the turtle.”

She smiled as he gazed into her, running his fingers through her hair, lowering his mouth to hers.

 


	18. Stolen Dessert

Denim didn’t know how long they’d been asleep, but she knew it hadn’t happened until she’d lay still in Mikey’s arms a moment too long and dozed off.  She woke tucked against his plastron with him staring at her.

“You know that’s creepy right?” She blinked then rubbed her eyes.

He had a wistful expression on his face as he pulled her close and spoke her thoughts.  “I just wish this was all over, so we could just chill together.”

She kissed his arm.  “Then let’s get this shit done.”  She shifted to sit up and he reluctantly released her.  “I need a shower,” she smiled at him.  “But I don’t seem to remember seeing it when you gave me the tour.”

He laughed.  “Uh, yeah, I was too busy giving you a tour of Mikey.”

She climbed onto him, straddling his plastron.  “You know, I think I’m learning my way around Mikey.  Why don’t you give me a tour of casa de’ Michelangelo?”

He gripped her hips, squeezed them tight and sat upright, pulling her against him.  Her heart skipped beats as their mouths met, his cool lips both gentle and sweet. 

Both of their phones rang at the same time, non-stop for the few minutes they chose to ignore them, until it finally irritated Denim.  Mikey could care less. But some inkling of responsibility nudged at her maternal side and she glanced at his small nightstand while his lips roamed her neck.  She picked up his phone by mistake. 

Raph: Answer ya damn phone.

Raph: Now.

Raph: You better not be fucking around.

Raph: Dammit, Mikey.

Raph: I will pound you!

She snickered, dropping it back onto the stand, then reached for hers.  Michelangelo swiped her hand away but she went right back for it, at the same time, he leaned back, dropping his mouth to her nipple and she gasped.  “Shit, Mikey.” Her eyes rolled back in her head.  _Focus, focus, focus._   She caressed the top of his head as he switched breasts, she found him insatiable and loved it, but she didn’t even know what time it was.  As he shifted forward, lowering her to her back, she grabbed the phone, taking it with her.  She managed to glance at the screen as he lowered his mouth to her hip bone.

April: Our appointment is in an hour.  Please don’t be late.

Karai: Don’t be late or I’ll kick your scrawny ass.

He nipped her and she looked down to find to radiant blue eyes luring her away.  “Mikey-” she began, but he lowered his face between her legs and she almost dropped the phone.  “Oh my,” she panted beneath the glory that was his tongue.

Their phones were ringing again.  She should care.  She needed to care, and yet he was like a drug, only one that could actually be good for her.  She knew it, felt it in the very core he was determined to fill. 

Her phone vibrated with a new message, then continued ringing and she shifted her foot to Mikey’s shoulder.  “Hey, down there, I would love, love,” she sighed, “love to do this with you forever, but I think your family is trying to tell us something.”

Mikey kissed her thigh and groaned.  “What’re they sayin’?”  Even as he asked he went back to nibbling her muscle.  She squirmed, giggling while trying to read her messages out loud.

“This one’s my, _oh my god_ , _that tickles_ , stop!  This ones, _Mikey_!  Oh my- _shit_!  Okay, Donnie _sayyyys_ -” She squirmed trying to wiggle away from his roaming fingers but he somehow kept her right under him, tormenting her with his nibbling mouth at the same time. “Ah!  Oh my gods, how can anyone be so, so, _playful_ at a time like this?” She gasped for breath, looked down at his beautiful smile and mischievous eyes.  “And yet, you’re exactly what I need.” 

He stopped playing with her, kissed her and worked her phone out of her hand.  Then he looked at it and read the messages while imitating his family member’s voices.

“This one’s from Donnie.  It says-” He cleared his throat and for some reason stretched his neck like he was trying to be taller. “At some point, I’d like to discuss the tranquilizer gun I made for you.  Maybe after the meeting?”  Mikey clucked his tongue.  “Nope.  Don’t need that one.  Delete.”

“What?  Mikey, no!”  She flailed, scrambling to get the phone from him, but he rolled over, holding it above his head while keeping one hand lightly on her shoulder.  She couldn’t reach it. And while _she_ was really trying _he_ wasn’t exerting any effort at all.  It showed with the amused smirk on his face. 

He glanced at the phone again.  “Let’s see, this one’s from,” he deepened his voice, “Leo.  It says, please answer the phone.”  He looked at Denim and shook his head.  “That’s just silly.  Delete.”

Denim’s mouth fell open.  “Are you serious, right now?  My apartment got broken into.  We were shot at!”

His hand slid down her shoulder, cradling her bicep and he pulled her to him.  “And right now, we are happy, and you are safe, and we are together.  Whatever the hell is going on out there can wait.”  He ran his fingers through her hair.  “We’ll get to them.  You need this.  I need this.”  His lips brushed hers, his breathe cool on her scorching lips.  “I need you.”

They kissed, long, and sweet.  Then both phones took on an endless stream of ringing and vibrating, bombarding them with messages. 

With her mouth still against his she inhaled deep, thought they both smelled of sex, pizza and strawberries and needed to shower. 

“What’s it say now?” she whispered against his lips. 

He glanced to where her phone had slipped off the bed onto the floor.  He feigned a scowl and angry voice.  “It’s Raph, it says, answer ya damn phone!”

He frowned as another message came through.  “He shouldn’t be talkin’ to you that way.”  Then he flashed her a sweet smile. “I’ll talk to him about it.”

Denim imagined how that conversation would go down, probably about as well as Raph had taken Donnie’s accidentally shooting him. 

“Oh, this ones from Raph, too.  Aww, he says if we don’t answer the damn phone he’s coming to kick our asses.”  Mikey grinned so big his eyes closed.  “He cares so much.”

Denim was almost crying, holding her stomach from laughing so hard.  “Okay, I have got to get away from you or this will never end.” 

Mikey pouted, but let her go.

She was still gasping for breath as she stood naked in his bedroom door.  “Bathroom in the hall, same as at my place?”

His eyes swept over her body, a half-frown half-smile on his face.  “Uh-huh.”

“Call your brothers.” She blew him a kiss and he caught it and held it to his plastron.  Yes, she was ready as ever to get this crap done.  She had Mikey and was close to getting Alli back.  If they could resolve this crap, the end would be so worth it.

XOXOXOX

The meeting with the attorney and social worker, Casey, was uneventful.  If it weren’t for Casey’s shocking, frequent swearing, and growling about lowlifes, she would’ve called it boring.  Yet no one seemed surprised by Casey’s unprofessional language.  She wondered if maybe he was speaking freely because he was in the company of friends, or if he lost his cool like that when dealing with clients.  Either way, he did seem very confident he could get assigned to Alli’s case.  That paired with Connie withdrawing her petition made things look pretty good for her.  That, of course, was all based on cleaning up the whole Keith Lowry fiasco. 

She learned that she’d missed out on the chance to charge Keith with assault for grabbing her by the neck, unless she had evidence.  The marks on her were almost gone and she should’ve gone to the hospital when it happened.  She didn’t know that at the time, though.  Donnie had offered to procure the video footage showing the attack, but the attorney insisted she would subpoena it from the store when she filed a formal inquiry as to the reasoning behind Denim’s termination. 

Denim suggested she go to the police station alone, but Michelangelo wasn’t letting her out of his sight.  Even with strangers eyeing the odd couple, the process of reporting her guns stolen and being shot at went relatively smooth.  But it took forever, like she thought it would.  The last thing the police told her was that they’d return to her apartment to investigate the shooting. 

When they were leaving the station, Mikey whispered to her, “I don’t know if they’ll find anything.”

Denim pointed to an ice cream shop. “Want a snack?  I’m starving.  And, why won’t they find anything?”

Mikey grabbed her hand and led her toward the store entrance, keeping her close to him.  Then he held the door for her.  “Uh, because I’m pretty sure the bullet is somewhere in my shell.”

Denim froze.  Her eyes shot to his.  “Oh my-”

“I’m fine.  It’s fine.” He let out a nervous laugh and shrugged.  “Kinda bulletproof that way, but uh, yeah they’re not gonna find a hole in the wall or anything.”

They stood in the entrance, and Mikey guided her to the side so they didn’t block the door.  She couldn’t move, her mind trying to comprehend that he’d taken a bullet to a part of his body to save her.  “T-t-two, t-t-t,” she stammered.  _He took a bullet for me.  Just like Kyle._ “Two shots. There were two.”  She stepped away from him trying to circle around so she could lift up his shirt and examine his carapace, but he kept turning with her.

Several patrons were watching them.  Fortunately, most were mutants and she didn’t think they were concerned with them being any danger, just that their behavior was odd.

“Uh, I know what you’re thinking, Blue Jeans,” Mikey shook his head, “and uh, we are not taking my shirt off here.”

Her nostrils flared, her eyes so wide she felt the air-conditioning in the whites of them.  “Well then, we better visit the bathroom, because you are not walking around with a bullet in you.  And where did-”

Michelangelo’s smile was tight as he guided her close and whispered, “Could you maybe not yell the words bullet and shot, right now?”

Her teeth ground together.  “Bathroom, now.”

The two were making their way past the counter, when Denim heard a mutant rabbit whisper to a mutant cat, “Great, now their trying to take our men, too.”

The cat let out a low growl.  “Damn humans, don’t I know it.  And it’s not like there are many for us to choose from.”

Denim stopped and Mikey looked back, followed her line of sight.  Tears rushed Denim’s eyes as she stepped up between the rabbit and cat.  “Excuse me,” she said looking back and forth between them, “what did you just say?”

The cat bared her teeth at Denim, her ears pressing flat to her head.  “I said, there aren’t many mutant men to choose from, and the likes of you don’t have any business with ours.”  She eyed Michelangelo.  “And he’s good looking too.  To good for the likes of you.”

Denim felt shot down, even as she tried to reason why she should and should not defend herself.  Was the cat right?  Was she wrong?  What was right and wrong anymore?  There were so many angles, so many sides.  Why did it matter?  Why couldn’t anyone mind their own damn business?  Her mind was reeling as her mouth opened, but Michelangelo had it covered.

“Uh, _I_ chose _her_.” He guided Denim to his side, wrapping his arm around her and kissing her cheek.  “I choose her, and I would, and will choose her again, and again, and,” he turned, taking Denim with him, walking down the hall, “and again, and again, and-”

Denim laughed at his intermittent kissing of her cheeks.  She opened the unisex bathroom door and pulled him in with her.  Their hands were a frenzy as she tugged his shirt off intending to examine his shell, at the same time he tugged on hers.  She kept trying to block him while giggling and kissing him at the same time.

“We’re not, _he-he_ , _stop_ , we’re not, _Mikey, stop,_ ” she laughed as he tugged on her shirt, “we’re not here to examine me, silly, now stop.”

Finally, she got him crouched down and his shirt off but he still toyed with the hem of her tank top, reaching behind him and tickling her.  Meanwhile, her fingers roved his nuchal shell.  “There it is!  Holy shit, Mikey!  I can’t even pick that out.  We’re going to need something.  Are you sure you’re not hurt?”

“Not hurt,” he insisted.

She kissed the top of his head.  “Thanks gods for that.  Well, you know what this is?”

“Hmm?” he asked, yet his head tipped toward the door and he gently lowered her hands, and straightened.  “Someone’s coming.”

Denim listened, but heard nothing.  Seconds later, she heard the squeak of sneakers over the floor then there was a knock on the door.

“Excuse me,” said a bored, cracking teenage voice. “Are there two people in there?  We had a complaint at the counter that two adults slipped in here together and I just want to remind you this is a family friendly establishment.  And with that, I’m just going to go back to scooping ice cream now.  Hopefully you order something besides each other.”

Mikey snickered and Denim covered her flushed cheeks.  Once the sneakers retreated and she managed to stop laughing, she told him, “Well, we have evidence of the shooting right there in your shell, and unless the second shot is stuck in Raph’s, there’s a hole somewhere in my apartment.”  Denim handed him his shirt and he tugged it back on.  “You still want ice cream?”

He looked at her like she’d lost her mind.  “Of course I do!” 

His phone started ringing and Denim noticed for the first time that he had a ringtone for each brother.  She’d picked up the different sounds earlier, but now she was able to identify who each one represented.  His phone belted out the opening lyrics to Inner Ninja. “I read the rules before I broke them-”

“That’s Leo, although the opening lyrics sound more fitting for Raph,” Denim said motioning to Mikey’s ringing jeans.

He reached in his pocket, laughing.  “Yeah, you’d think so, unless you heard Raph’s ringtone.”  He swiped a finger over the phone.  “Sup, Boss?”

Michelangelo’s smile fell.  “No, we didn’t go straight to the police.  We went to my place first.” His voice dropped to a whisper.  “No, I- no, Leo, we didn’t.  We were tired!  I’m sorry.  No, we didn’t forget what’s going on.  We just left there.  No, we got hungry.  Yes, I know.  You’re right.” Then his tone shifted from apologetic to one filled with annoyance.  “I’m sorry I didn’t know we were being _punished_ for wanting to hang out together.” 

Mikey turned towards the door but Denim could see the scowl on his face in the mirror.  “Are you about done?” he said in a flat tone.  “Well, I wish everyone would leave us alone.”  A few seconds passed.  “No.  I’m still totally gonna eat first.  We’re having ice cream.  We’ll see you after.”  Then he hung up and shoved the phone back in his pocket, ignoring it when it bleeped with a message only a few seconds later. 

He looked at her and smiled, but it didn’t quite reach his eyes the way it usually did.  “We’re getting ice cream, Blue Jeans.  We’re eating it here then we’ll meet up with mi familia.  Donnie can get the bullet out of my shell.”

Denim’s stomach was growling.  She’d been nervous at lunch and hadn’t eaten much.  She nodded in agreement and they made their way to the counter to place their order.  Mikey pointed her to a table in a corner away from the windows.  He was unusually quiet as he ate his ice cream, and sat beside her instead of across from her, both of them facing the door.

When he finished his bizarre Everything Sundae, he dipped his spoon into her double fudge brownie, taking a bite but not looking away from the door.  She began attempting to block his spoon with hers, but this was futile, as without shifting his gaze, he countered her easily.  Then he turned it around on her, blocking her from getting a bite for herself, even from a different spot than his.  The edges of his lips tipped up, a smirk forming on the sweet curve of his mouth.  But he wouldn’t look away from the door and that irritated her more than his brownie blocking.

“Okay, that’s it!” she announced, throwing down her spoon and standing up. 

He snickered then reached up and guided her back in her seat.  “Easy there, Blue Jeans.” He scooped up a spoonful and offered it to her, but still didn’t take his eyes off the door.  She stared at the spoon hovering before her mouth then sank back in her seat and crossed her arms.

“What’s going on, Mikey?”

He ate the bite, put the spoon down, and rose out of his seat, pulling his phone from his pocket.  “We’ve got a little problemo.  No big.  But you better finish that or I’m gonna.”

“What’s the problem?” she pouted. 

He didn’t answer her, swiping his finger over his phone.  “Hey, Raph. I need- yeah, how’d you know?  Oh.  So, backdoor then?  Okie-doke.”  He hung up and grabbed the bowl of ice cream, taking huge bites of it.  “We,” he swallowed, “Oh that’s cold, but soo, _mmm_ good.  We gotta go, though. _Mmmm_ , yummy.”

Denim stared at him.  “We’re not going out the front door, are we?”

“ _Mmmm_ , I’m getting this next time. _Mmmm_ , _oh_ , brain freeze, _mmm_ , nope.  Let’s go.”  He stood up, holding the ice cream in one hand and guiding her in front of him with his other.  He took another bite and motioned her toward the back door.  “Well, _nom_ , _nom_ , go on.”

“Are you bringing the ice cream with us?” she asked.

“Nope, gotta finish it before the door.  Gonna need my hands,” he winked at her, took the last bite of mostly hot fudge, licked his lips and dropped the bowl in the trash.

“Well, that was delicious,” she sighed.  “Thanks for sharing _my_ _ice cream_ with _me_.”  She turned to walk down the hall, but he grabbed her hand whipped her around and planted a chocolaty kiss on her lips.   He tasted cool and sweet, and she quickly forgot about her stolen dessert. 

As they reached the end of the hall, he stopped before the bathroom door, pressed her against it and kissed her again. 

“I’m crazy about you, Blue Jeans,” he cooed as his hand slipped over the handle of the door.  She felt it fall open behind her then he gently guided her inside, kissing her amid a whispering of apologies she couldn’t comprehend.  Then he touched her neck in a strange way and the world went black.


	19. Say It Isn't So

Her sense of smell returned first.  The odor was wrong.  She expected the air to be heavy with sugar, warm and sweet like fresh baked goods… cakes, brownies, sugar cones… But her nostrils were assaulted with a putrid stench, sour, moldy, and her stomach turned.  She let out a soft groan, reached up and touched the left side of her head, suspecting she must’ve hit it, but didn’t remember doing so.  It wouldn’t be the first time she’d passed out though. 

Experience told her to peek through an eyelid before trying to open both, in case someone left the lights on and the curtains open on her hospital window… But she didn’t remember any hospital room ever smelling like this.  She tried not to inhale deep, the scent just shy of making her want to cover her mouth.  She opened one eyelid with a groan, but could see nothing before her.  Wherever she was it was pitch black.  A cave?

She pushed a hand to her side and felt something soft beneath her fingers.  Fabric?  Then she realized her head was on a pillow.  There was a blanket over her and a mattress beneath her?  Her heart picked up an erratic beat.  What kind of hospital stinks of shit and is so dark she can’t see her hand in front of her face? 

The back of her head ached like she’d been stunned, not taken a bump to her sensitive left side.  She curled her legs up close but was afraid to move in any direction, unable to sense what was surrounding her.  Fear crept over the back of her neck and she shivered.  Wherever she was, it was cold.

What happened?  The last thing she remembered was eating ice cream with Mikey.  He kissed her then… What? 

The sound of a door opening brought both hope and yet another trill of terror to her pounding heart.  Her eyes shot to the first beam of light as it illuminated the cracked rectangle with a familiar turtle shape filling it.  She exhaled deep, a wash of relief rushing over her.  “Mikey?”

“Uh-hey, you feelin’ okay?” He was a silhouette against the light behind him, his voice soft and… guilty?  Wait.

“Michelangelo, what happened?  I remember the ice cream shop and kissing you, but then…” her voice trailed off, uncertainty hanging before her.  She rubbed the back of her skull.  “I don’t remember falling or hitting my head and-”

“You didn’t,” he murmured. 

He turned for the door, bent over and picked up a small camping lantern.  The space lit up around him as he approached her, and she took in the sparse details, cinder-block walls, posters on them, the floor concrete but there was a horribly worn orange rug beneath his sneakered foot.

He stopped just feet away from her, turned to his left and grabbed what looked like an old dinner table chair tucked under a mismatched desk covered with papers and plates.  He put the chair beside the bed and sat down.  She looked at him, realized his arms were covered in dark splotches and he was wearing the same shirt from the ice cream shop only it was speckled with… she leaned closer, blinking.  “Is that blood?”

“Huh?” He looked down at himself and her gaze shifted from his shirt to his face.  There was a bruise on his cheek.  “Oh, yeah.  Probably is.” He reached down and grabbed the hem, pulled it over his head.  “Should change, I guess.”

He tossed the shirt behind him then grabbed the lantern, crossed the room, moving to her left toward a dresser.  “Is that your blood?” she asked.  “What happened?”  She inhaled deep trying to clear her head, but the lingering stench soured her stomach.  “Where are we and _what_ is that smell?”

Michelangelo’s shell blocked her view of him as he opened a pressboard dresser with mismatching knobs and pulled out a shirt.  He slipped it over his head and returned to his chair.  There was some eerie sense of calm over him that unsettled her…almost--no--it did--it scared her.  This wasn’t a side of him she knew. 

He put the lantern down again and rubbed his face, not flinching when his palm brushed the bruise on his cheek.  He hadn’t looked her in the eye yet and she was beginning to rethink her judgment of him, when finally he did.  Even in a cold, dark place, those blue gems were still his.  Undeniably, remarkably, infinitely his, blue as a flawless sky at noon on a spring day.  _Good gods his light even shines in the damn dark_. 

“How ya’ feelin’?  I uh-” He reached in the pocket of his jeans and she realized they were covered in grime, but the bottle of water he pulled from them was pristine.  “I brought you something to drink.” He handed her the bottle, but she didn’t move, so he laid it next to her. “It’ll help clear the foggy stuff.”

She stared at him, saw guilt in his eyes.  They were radiant, but they also carried a burden that matched the set of his mouth.  _They’d been kissing… he was apologizing… he touched her neck…then everything went black._  

“Well?”  She picked up the bottle, turned the cap and drank half of it while waiting for him to answer her questions.

As silence stretched between them, her confusion over her loss of consciousness blended with the stress of having no control of her life.  Why was everything falling apart when she'd finally found something so good?  It felt like fate had slapped a giant target on her back and told the world to have at it.  What happened at the ice cream parlor?  Why was Mikey hurt?  Why was he acting guilty? 

Suspicion formed possibilities in her mind, taking unpleasant shape.  She didn't like thinking it of him, but couldn't fit any other explanation into what happened.  Why wasn’t he saying anything?  She needed to know.  Needed him to say it wasn't so. 

Each additional second of silence burned more of her frustration into anger.  He had to explain himself.  Now.  When she’d had her fill of water and he’d yet to respond, she put the lid on, reached back and chucked the bottle at his head.  “Say something!” 

What shocked her was how fast his hand flew up, snatching it from the air, without taking his eyes off her.  He didn’t pout, didn’t even look irritated with her.  Nor was there any play about him at all.  “I’m sorry, Denim,” he said it plain, flat, almost hard, but what stung the most was he didn’t mean it.

Her breaths came harder with the clench of her jaw.  “Where the hell are we?  Say something.  What the hell is going on?”  Her anger grew as she leaned toward him, searching for the personality that went with those familiar blue eyes, because right then, they were all she recognized.  “Tell me that what I’m thinking you did, you didn’t do.”

He looked away, exhaled and rubbed his face again.  “I can’t let you get hurt.  I can’t.”  His eyes closed.  “But I _can_ protect you, keep you safe until we fix-”

Her eyes grew wide and her hand balled in a fist.  “Are you insane?  Have you completely lost your mind?  Where the fuck are we?  You can’t fix this by yourself.  This isn’t just your life they’re fucking with.” She stood on the bed.  “I’m not a fucking china doll!  I’m not some damsel in distress.  Fuck, Michelangelo, I mean, really, what the fuck?” She huffed, rubbing her face trying to get the haze in the back of her head to clear as her anger spiraled.  “I let you touch me!  I opened my heart to you.  I let you _in_.” 

His eyes opened even as her rant continued. 

“Fuck!  And you-” A lump rose to her throat.  Her sight grew blurry, and her voice fell to a frail sound, “You betray me like _this_?”   

He was tracking her movements, but was so still, she couldn’t see him breathing.  The grim set of his mouth quivered, but he said nothing. 

“SAY SOMETHING!” she screamed, tears busting free, her heart stinging with betrayal.  “Tell me that you didn’t _intentionally_ hurt my body.”

He flinched at that, his face crumpled like a paper ball.  “No, it wasn’t like that.  Denim, it wasn’t.”

She dropped to her knees, the mattress beneath them sinking, matching the way she felt.  She found herself pleading with him, wanting her heart to stop hurting.  “What are you doing, Mikey?”

Tears spilled down his cheeks as he stood.  He knelt on the floor by the bed and reached for her face, but she flinched and he froze.  “I just want to keep you safe, Denim.  You couldn’t see you,” he blinked but the tears kept falling and she was torn, the damn muscle pounding in her chest hurting for him even though it seemed he’d hurt her. 

He swallowed, swiped at his eyes but they brimmed again.  “You couldn’t see what I saw.  But how could you?  It was happening to _you_.  They were kicking you, and I could hear your ribs breaking.  I could hear that sound, even while they were beating me.  All I could do was try to filter out the noise, just to hear if you were still breathing.” His lip trembled, his eyes spilling over again.  Then his nostrils flared and the corners of his mouth drew into a hard line.  “Then you laid there on that cell floor for two days.  I didn’t know if you were ever gonna wake up.  And if you didn’t,” he choked, looked her in the eye, “you’d be dead, because you knew me.” 

He took a shuttering breath.  “You were hurt so bad.  I mean, I’ve taken some beatings and I’ve,” he swiped both hands over his face, “I’ve seen some shit, Denim, but you,” he pointed to her torso, “don’t have a shell to protect you, and you are so tiny and breakable and-” he pressed his lips together, his gaze fell to the bed, his voice stripped raw, “Alli can’t be without her mom, Blue Jeans.  She needs you.  So sniper badass or not, being a mom is more important than a mutant turtle, okay?  We’ll get this whole thing taken care of and you can stay here until we do.”

Her chest felt ragged, her insides soaked like her cheeks.  “Was there a fight at the ice cream parlor?”

He nodded, kept his gaze on the bed.

“The extremists?”

He nodded again.

She sniffed, wiped her face.  “Did you knock me out?”

He didn’t move.

“Answer me!” she yelled.

His lip parted but no words came out.

She leaned over, shoved her face in his.  “You will look me in the eye, and you will tell me what you did, or so help me I will walk away from you.  And if you think your stealthy, you ain’t seen shit.  So, protect that.”

He blinked. 

A few seconds passed, but neither of them moved. 

Her face hovered near his, and the scent of him sent a horrible ache to her heart.  She loved him.  She thought it before in the afterglow of something intimate.  But right then, even as her insides raged, the new fault in her ran deeper. She was irrevocably torn between wanting to sympathize with him, but also punch him in his bruised cheek at the same time.  What hurt most wasn’t even what he’d done.  It was what she was going to have to do if he couldn’t own it.  

Right when she thought he wouldn’t, he whispered, “It was a pressure point.  I touched a pressure point, and you just went to sleep.  I didn’t hurt you.  I just hid you in the bathroom until it was safe then I brought you here.”

“I told you to look me in the eye when you said that,” she grumbled.

His gaze locked with hers.  “I’m not a child.”

Her jaw shifted.  “Ha.  I didn’t say you were, but damn if you aren’t acting like one.”

His eyes darted between hers.  “I like it that you don’t treat me like a kid.  It’s one of my favorite things about you.  Why are you doing it now?”

She snorted.  “Are you fucking kidding me?  You knocked me ou-”

“Pressure point.  You went to sleep.” He shook his head. “Not the same thing.”

Her eyes were wide. “Shut the fuck up, you are not helping yourself right now.  _You_ , took it upon _yourself_ to make _my_ body go into a state of compliance so _you_ could make a decision for _me_.”  She pointed to herself.  “I am a trained sniper, Michelangelo.  A soldier.  I’ve been to war.  To fight for equality, for freedom.  Mothers do _that_ so their children will have a better world.  I’m never going to be that sweet compliant girl you want.  I’m a survivor.  I’m a game changer.  I’m going to do what I have to and you can either walk with me or get the fuck out of my way.”  She stepped off the bed and stood beside him, looking toward the door.  “Stop fighting _me_ and fight _with_ me, Mikey.” 

He sighed.  “Why can’t any of the women in this family _not_ want to fight?”

Denim thought of Karai and April then let out an ironic laugh.  She turned to face him.  “Look at me, like I’m not pissed off at you beyond belief right now.  Just,” she took a breath, “just look at me.”

His eyes followed her, but he didn’t move. 

“Mikey, there is something undeniably beautiful about you.  I mean, I’ve never met anyone like you.  I wish every soul in this world could shine the way you do, it really would be a better place.  But, honey, if women aren’t tough as nails, even the soft flowery ones, you know, the kind you _think_ you want,” she shook her head, “they’ve got fight somewhere in them too, because if they don’t, they won’t make it.  Life calls on everyone to fight some demon at some time or another.” She snorted.  “It just calls on some of us more often.  So boy, get your chucks and mask, tell me where the fuck you’ve taken me, get me a gun and let’s fight back.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Very special thanks to both Illusionna and Pheonix500 for brainstorming with and beta-ing for me. Thank you to every reader who takes the time to review. I’m usually very good about replying to you, but admittedly I’ve been working hard on this story for you and have fallen behind! Please don’t stop, I read every review and they motivate and inspire me. :D Thank you!


	20. I Called It Home

Michelangelo stared at her until she couldn’t take it anymore. 

“Where - am - I?” she repeated.

“You’re wrong about one thing,” he said finally, standing up, rubbing his face as he approached her.

The light of the lantern was dim, casting a soft glow over them, but even that was enough light for his eyes to shine.  He lifted a hand, moved it slowly toward her cheek as if bracing for her to reject him.  She knew she should.  She should punch him in the face for what he’d done.  She should make him suffer before letting him touch her again.  But her heart was pounding, her breath trapped in her throat, and her skin burning. 

Slowly those thick green fingers graced her skin, slid into her hair and somehow didn’t catch on a single strand.  She peered into him, gave up being mad, he was never going to make that easy for her anyway.  But she should be.  She should refuse him in some way.  Her lips moved, but her tone didn’t support her hesitation.  “I’m not wrong about any of it.” 

He smiled.  “Yeah, you are.”  He leaned over, his lips close to hers but not touching.  “I don’t want one of those sweet flowery things, Blue Jeans.”

Her lips were thrumming like they had a pulse.  “You don’t?”

“Uh-uh.” His breath ghosted her flesh, her insides quaking.   Then he inched closer, his lips brushing hers. “I want you.”

She thought she’d never been so damn weak in her life as she kissed him.  But she craved him, was seeing all sides of him and as she faced each one she found it something she could live with. 

“I am so mad at you.” She cried openly, tears streaking her cheeks as their mouths met again.

His hands slid down the outline of her body.  “You should be.” He agreed, reaching for the hem of her shirt.  Their tongues intertwined but her hands wrapped around his, stopping him.  She took one last taste of him and stopped herself.  “Oh _no_ , sir.  You are _not_ getting off that easy.”  She opened her eyes, panting, wanting him even as she turned him away.  She took a step back from him, her body confusing her.  She fanned herself.  “You are damn addicting.  So, you just,” she waved toward the opposite end of the room, “stay over there and I’m going to stand over here.”

“Addicting, huh?” he grinned, but the upturn of his mouth dissolved as fast as it came.  “It’s getting crazy up there, Blue Jeans.”

Denim’s stomach churned.  “What do you mean up _there_?  Where is _here_?”

Michelangelo sat on the chair again, resting his forearms on his knees.  He rubbed the back of his head then took a deep breath.  “This used to be my home.  You know, before the war… before we were citizens.”

The room was barely lit so she couldn’t really see anything, but what she had observed was even more modest than what little she had.  The smell though, was hard to stomach, and there were no windows.  If Mikey was twenty-one and the war had ended two years ago…

She tried to make sure she kept an even tone, bracing herself for what she suspected to be true.  She didn’t want to imagine a light like his being kept in such a dark place for any amount of time.  “Where is this, and how long was it home?”

“The sewer. And my whole life until I was nineteen.”  He offered her a grim smile.  “Don’t look so sad, Blue Jeans.  It wasn’t so bad.  I had my bros, and Master Splinter.” He shrugged.  “I was curious about the world, but I didn’t fit in.  This place kept us safe.” 

Denim’s eyes welled.  The idea of a young Michelangelo kept away from the warmth of the sun was as tragic as the way society treated him on an almost daily basis.  But she knew that look in his eyes too.  It was the ‘please don’t feel sorry for me’ expression that paralleled her own, ‘fuck you I don’t need your pity.’  It came from a similar place.  She sat down on the bed across from him, an ache rising to the back of her throat. 

“I am sad, Mikey, the idea of you kept in the dark-” she shook her head, “there aren’t words for how wrong that is.” She reached out, touched his three fingered hand.  “But I’m jealous at the same time.  You had so much more down here than I ever had up there.  I know it’s hard to believe that, but what you had, what you still have, your brothers and father,” she shrugged, “I never had that.  And this,” she motioned around the room, “I didn’t ever actually own anything.  Nothing I used was really mine.  It belonged to whatever foster family I was staying with at the time.  When I moved on, the stuff stayed behind and the next kid used it.” 

His fingers curled around hers.  “You get it.”

Her smile was sincere.  “Yeah, I get it.  Places and stuff don’t matter.  You and Alli, matter.  Your family matters.”  She stood, wrapped her arms around his neck and kissed the top of his bald green head.  “But don’t tell me what my priorities are, Mikey.  You’re my mutant turtle and I adore you.  So how about you tell me what’s going on up there?”

He let out a short laugh, fraught with tension.  “I like being yours.”  He sighed.  “I just wish all the craziness would stop.”

Denim took a deep breath.  “What happened at the ice cream shop?”

“Riots.  The Internal Affairs guy announced they’re pressing charges against the officers that hurt us.” His head tipped back, his blue eyes meeting hers.  “There’s reporters looking for the both of us, and crowds of protestors waiting to throw stuff at us I guess.  That’s what Leo was telling me when he called.  That’s why I kept an eye on the door.  The longer we were there more and more people filled the sidewalk on the way to the police station.”  He frowned.  “Raph was coming for us because we wouldn’t answer our phones.  Leo told him where to find us.  Some of the protestors were getting rough with Raph, I hid you and we cleared a path to the manhole cover.  I brought you here.”

Denim pinched between her eyes.  _What a fucking avalanche of a mess._   “We can’t stay here, Mikey.  Whatever the Internal Affairs guy is doing, he should’ve warned us.”  Denim straightened.  “Does your home have electricity?”

“Are your eyes ready for it?” he asked, standing. 

“Yeah, thanks.”

He reached up, pulled a chain hanging from the center of the room.  The light wasn’t that much brighter than the lantern and her eyes adjusted quickly. 

“He did try to warn us. The internal affairs dude, I mean,” he held up his phone.  “We just weren’t taking any calls.”  He pointed to hers.  “Your voicemail is full you know.”

She took a shallow breath, trying to avoid the lingering stench.  “I’m not worried about lawyers, and-”

“There’s more,” he interrupted her, beginning to shift his weight back and forth.  “The tape of the guys attacking us at Murakami’s is gone.”

Denim shrugged.  “I know.  Your brothers went after Keith trying to get it back.”

Michelangelo grimaced.  “No, it’s _gone_. Gone.  Like, Raph and Leo found Keith, cornered him, demanded the tape, and the jerk pointed them to a melted puddle of goo in an oil drum behind a warehouse on 42 nd.  That’s where they meet, his little group of haters.”

Denim’s knees buckled, she sat on the bed again.  “So we go to jail.”  She rubbed her face, trying to smooth out a lump in her throat she couldn’t reach.  Where did she begin to fix this?  The evidence that would exonerate them was gone.  Keith was trying to kill her.  The damn IA guy pressed charges, and now there was rioting and press. 

“Maybe not, I’m sure Donnie or Leo will think of something.”  Mikey sat beside her.  “They always do.”

She rubbed her face.  “Mikey, what day is it?  I’m supposed to start my new job Friday.”

“You can’t, Blue Jeans.  It’s crazy out there, I’m telling you.”  He took her hand guiding her from the room. 

Her mouth fell open at sight of the great arches surrounding them, and how big the space was.  She was even more surprised to find they were in an upstairs area.  He led her to the main floor and motioned toward a collection of TV’s, his family huddled around them. 

Karai and April each glanced at her then turned back to the TV’s.  Raph looked at Mikey, then her, before shaking his head and lumbering off down an alcove.  Donnie and Leo never took their eyes off the screens.  Denim’s attention shifted from them to what they were watching. 

People were filling the streets outside the police station.  There were officers in riot gear trying to push them back. The people and mutants had divided in two halves, one side proclaiming the police to be criminals, the other heroes.  Denim closed her eyes. 

Was all of this because she wanted to have dinner with a nice guy?  Or was it more?  Was it because she killed Clarence Abbott and a pissed off parent vowed vengeance on her?  Had the war been abroad it might never have come to this.  But she fought at home, in a war with houses divided.    

“Denim?” Donatello’s voice pierced her thoughts.  “I was wondering if we could talk?”

“Thanks, but no thanks, Donnie.”  Michelangelo waved his brother off.  “She’s staying down here, where we can keep her safe.” 

Denim’s eyes brimmed. “No, Mikey, haven’t you heard anything I’ve said?  I have to fight this.  My daughter is up there somewhere and I need to check on her and Connie.  If the press is really looking for me, they’ll eventually find their way to her doorstep.”  Denim’s heart jerked.  “Oh god, they’ll lead Keith right to her.”

Leo looked over his shoulder.  “I’ll send Raph to keep an eye on the house, until we figure out what to do.  Go,” he motioned her toward Donatello, “talk to him.”

Mikey opened his mouth but Denim refused to look at him.  She followed Donnie down the same hall Raph had taken.  There were four doors along the alcove, Donnie stopped at the second and beckoned her inside.  It was a large room filled with gadgets, a desk with a computer close to the door.  He stopped at a table in the center of the room. 

The gun lying on it wasn’t as big as her rifle.  She picked it up, was surprised to find it lightweight.  She checked the chamber, fiddled with the trigger.  It _was_ sensitive, just the way he’d described it.  The scope on it was remarkable, small, yet as she adjusted the gauges, precise.  She set it back on the table.  “Why’d you make this?”

He didn’t answer her, instead reached for tiny, pellet size darts.  “I created these just for this gun.  They are smaller than the standard darts you’re used to. You can load more in the chamber and fire more rounds before reloading.”

She examined the dart, raised her eyebrows.  “ _This_ , took down you brother?”

Donatello snickered.  “I don’t play when it comes to tech.  Since you came along, I’ve done a ton of research on snipers, how you work, the weapons and strategies you use-”

“Why?” she repeated.  “Why, when your brother doesn’t want me to fight, are you making me a weapon?”

“Because you’re going to fight, whether he wants you to or not,” Donnie shrugged.  “April and Karai are the same way.  And it’s not that he doesn’t think you’re capable.  It’s just, he saw you hurt and it shook him up.”

Denim snorted.  “He would’ve freaked out when I was shot in the head.”  She handed the darts back to him.  "What am I supposed to do with a tranquilizer gun?”

Donnie shrugged.  “ _Not_ kill people?”

“Right, well maybe you should give this to Keith Lowry.”  Denim took a step back from the table.  “It doesn’t matter if I kill him before he kills me.  From what Mikey said we’re going to jail so why not throw in a murder charge?” 

She walked around the lab, touching various objects.  Donatello began making a clicking sound from his throat, his fingers out and parted as if he might lunge forward to stop her. 

“I mean,” she said, examining an odd tool she could not identify, “would Lowry have gone psycho on me if I hadn’t started dating Mikey?”

“Yes.  Definitely, yes.  You might even be dead already,” Donatello answered.  “And uh, you might not want to keep touching things, especially on that-” he motioned toward a table covered with beakers and vials, “particular table.”

She lifted her fingers from a tube filled with pink liquid.  “Sorry.  I don’t usually play with other people’s stuff.  I just--he was a security guard.  We ate lunch in the same break room.”  She shivered.  “I mean he was always kind of creepy. Interested in my life, you know?”

“Keith Lowry is a sociopath.  He was a high ranking officer, dishonorably discharged when he was caught mutilating the body of a young mutant.  Denim, it was his son that turned him in.”  Donnie shook his head.  “I’m not even sure how Clarence Abbott ended up on the side of the opposition.  Not when he was friends with your husband.”

Denim snapped to attention.  “W-w-what?”  Her stomach rolled. What was happening?  She ran to Donnie’s computer.  “Do you have pictures?  Donnie, d-do you have pictures of the murder?  How do you know, how do you know he knew Kyle?”

Donnie followed her, and with a few mouse clicks it was all staring her in the face.  She sank into the rolling chair, staring at Kyle, Clarence and a mutant girl.  It was her.  Kyle’s secret love.  A mutant fox, with gorgeous red fur and golden eyes.  “Oh, god.  Where did you find this?”

“It was in Lowry’s discharge file.  It was a classified case.” Donnie clicked on a report folder and Denim skimmed over it while he talked.  “She wasn’t considered a citizen at the time so it was treated more like a cruelty to animals case.  You don’t want to see the pictures of what he did to her.  The case file noted that he thought his son was intimate with the mutant.” Donnie looked at her.  “But it was Kyle, wasn’t it?”

She didn’t answer him.  “He didn’t even serve any time, did he?”

Donnie shrugged.  “Animal cruelty doesn’t fetch much jail time.  He was pretty much just discharged.  The whole thing looked like it was handled quietly.”

“He probably bullied his son into going to war for the opposition.”  Tears spilled down her cheeks.  “Then I’m the one that ends up pulling the trigger.” She raised a trembling hand to her mouth.  “Gods, Donnie I got Kyle killed then killed his friend.”  She turned blurry eyes on him.  “How do I make this right?”

Donatello’s mouth moved but no words came out.

“You don’t,” Leo said from the door, holding out a ringing phone.  “That’s done.  What we’ve got to do now is stop Lowry.  The first thing you do is answer your phone, then check your messages.”

As Denim’s fingers touched the device a chill spread over her.  She swiped the screen.  “Mom?”

Connie sobbed into the phone.  “She’s gone, Denim.  Alli’s gone.”

 

 


	21. Sugar

Denim dropped the phone.  Connie’s voice became an abstract noise in the distance.  She slid to the floor, the cold concrete beneath her doing nothing to stop the room from spinning.  She thrust one hand out to stop herself from collapsing.  Lowry had her.  He had Alli and he did unspeakable things to that mutant.  He was a sociopath, a murderer, and he had her _daughter_. 

She retched, barely felt the cool fingers pulling back her hair, a second set thrusting a trash can in front of her.  There was nothing to throw up.  Leo’s voice was distorted.  A whirl of turtle and human legs began moving methodically around her.  So many voices, orders being given.  Leo had her phone.  Mikey took it, was talking. 

Denim’s stomach heaved again, her heart pounding so hard she thought it would explode.  Her blood was electric, thrumming hard in her fingertips.  Where did he take her?  Had he hurt her?  Hurt her… Denim’s blood flashed hot.  _I’ll kill him.  I’ll kill him.  Oh.  I am so gonna kill that son-of-a-bitch._

_Baby girl, when I get you back, no one on this planet will keep us apart._

She swiped her eyes, scanned the room from one end to the other.  Everyone was busy, appeared to be arming themselves.  April was tying her hair back, while Karai selected a sword, and Donnie was reaching for something Denim couldn’t name.  Michelangelo was still on the phone, one hand holding it, the other slipping shuriken into a utility belt.  All the while, Leo was still giving instruction.

Michelangelo would want her to stay, and there was no time to argue with him.  She was through with that. She would show him she who she really was, what she was capable of, and get her daughter back all at the same time.  Besides, if he knew what she was going to do he would only try to stop her.  She slunk out the door, found her legs shaky but functioning.  Spying a door on the far side of the room, she slipped out.

XOXOXOX

There wasn’t a crowd on the street, at least not in the spot she emerged from the manhole.  She was glad for that.  It was dark out too, another something in her favor.  She’d take it.  The street at the far end of the alley, however, was bustling with people.  She couldn’t tell from there if they were friendly or hostile.  After tightening her shoelaces and sweeping her hair back into a tight knot, she pulled her hoodie up.  She slipped into the flow of people, realized they were just civilians, not part of a riot. After determining her location, she understood why, she was near the library.  All of the riots were near the police station. 

She made her way toward Connie’s.  It wasn’t far.  A ten minute jog.  But when she rounded the corner to her street, she found it filled with news vans, reporters, and police cars.  Had Connie called the police?  Had Mikey told her to?  She slipped into the alley that ran behind the houses.

Denim didn’t knock on the back door to Connie’s brownstone, instead pulled the hide-a-key from beneath a flower pot to get in.  “Mom!  Mom!”  She ran from room to room looking for her, found the first floor empty, raced upstairs and ground to a halt outside Alli’s room. 

Her daughter’s scent assaulted her.  Every maternal bone in her body wanted to crumble, to curl up around herself, pulling everything that belonged to her little girl close so she could breathe her in, have her near.  Which was exactly what Connie was doing. 

It was the normal thing to do and if Denim didn’t get Alli back, if she didn’t know where or how to find her, or even who had taken her, she might curl up beside her mother-in-law and weep.  But Denim had the answer to all of those questions.  She knew what she had to do.  She just needed two things to get the job done. 

“Connie.” Denim stood in Alli’s door, trying not to let the details distract her.  The soft pink walls, the tulle curtains, the stuffed animals overflowing from her toybox… The little music box on her antique-white dresser with a picture of Denim and Kyle on their wedding day taped where the mirror should be.  Denim shouldn’t be paying attention to any of this.  Not when there was work to be done and her daughter to bring home.  “Connie,” she repeated.

“Denim?” Her mother looked up from Alli’s pillow, red-eyed from sobbing. 

Denim took a deep breath, tried to calm her racing heart, struggling to fight the panic that beckoned her.  _It won’t help. It won’t help._   “Mom, I need Sugar.  Do you still have her?”

Connie’s brow furrowed.  “She’s in the safe with Daisy and The Musketeers.  Don’t worry, I keep them locked up when Alli’s here.  She doesn’t even know I have them.  Do you think they stole them, too?”

Denim snorted.  “They stole Pretty and the boys.  The police have my Beretta and I’m going to need more than a .38.” 

Connie sat up.  “What are you talking about?  Tell me that Michelangelo isn’t behind this,” she sniffled and sighed, “I was just talking to him and he seemed really upse-”

“You know what, Mom.  It turns out this isn’t about mutants at all anymore.  Not really.  It never was.  I mean that might be how it began but, that’s not what any of this was.  Michelangelo was just the push Keith needed.”  Denim’s eyes watered.

Connie’s feet slid to the floor.  “Who’s Keith?”

“Keith Lowry was Clarence Abbott’s father, one of my targets in the war.  Keith has been offing every sniper that fought on our side, because he didn’t know who did it.  Only I’m pretty sure that now he knows it was me that killed his son…” Denim swallowed the lump in her throat, tears slipping down her cheek.  “He took Alli knowing I’ll come for her.  So I need Sugar, because Keith plans to kill me with my own rifle.”

Connie’s mouth hung open, but Denim didn’t wait for her to react.  There wasn’t time, she wasted too much already.  She ran downstairs to the library and reached for the family portrait over the fireplace, protecting the massive safe behind it.  Denim turned the dial, knew the combination, Kyle’s birth date, by heart. 

The safe opened and she grabbed the long box, the attachments, her ammunition, and the bottom garment box, hers, which rested beneath Kyle’s.  She glanced at the flag they’d given her after his funeral.  She hated opening this safe.  It hurt like a punch to the gut every time she set eyes on its contents.  She loathed that her past was as dark and repulsive as it was, but above all she would kill the asshole that took her baby because of it. 

With shaking hands she loaded the rifle and her supplies into her soft case.  She laid the stocked bag on the cherry desk and set the garment box alongside it.  With a deep breath, she opened the box, moved her uniform aside, and reached for the black bodysuit beneath. 

It wasn’t a gilly suit, although she and Kyle each had a trunk of those in the basement.  This was something snipers didn’t have standard prior to The Mutant Liberation War. Because many of the battles were fought in the city, and she did most of her work at night, this was one of her primary uniforms.  It fit her like a glove and made her damn near invisible at night.  _Well it used to, prior to Alli._   Denim sighed.  She weighed the same but her shape and changed a bit.  She hoped it still fit.

She stripped down in the library and was struggling with the zipper when human fingers closed the back, her mother’s voice steeling her resolve.  “Bring her home, Denim.  But don’t kill that man.  You can’t raise Allison from jail.”

Tears streaked Denim’s cheeks, but her jaw was clenched.  “Well, you be sure to tell her how I got there.”  She turned picking up the rifle bag.  “And don’t leave anything out.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Special thanks to Illusionna and Pheonix500 for beta and brainstorming. You girls are the best! :D


	22. Ninja Stealth... Maybe?

Denim slipped out the back door as a hard knock came down on the front. “NYPD, Detective Kemp.  Ms. Sanders, please open the door.”

Denim closed it without so much as a click.  Good.  Connie could keep Kemp busy while she took care of Lowry.  But as Denim slipped into the alley behind the house, it seemed two reporters had thought to snoop around and were standing in the middle of her exit.  She slunk back against a brick wall and checked the opposite end of the alley.  Dead end.  Damn. 

She inched further in the wrong direction when something reached out and grabbed her, covering her mouth while restraining her arms.  _What the-_   She backed into whoever had her but they didn’t budge.  Then she was lifted from her feet and jerked upward. 

A fire escape.  She looked down, found a thick green arm wrapped around her, the scent of leather filling her head.  Not Mikey.  She looked at the arm again, recognized the pattern of the scars.  Raph!  She tapped his forearm with her fingers and he released her. 

Their eyes met and he glared at her, shook his head and pointed up.  She nodded, following him in silent ascent.  She couldn’t reach the distance between the top fire escape and the roof.  He vaulted up then turned and offered her his hand, whipping her through the air, then planting her on her feet. 

Raph scowled, his jaw working as he paced a few steps.  He stopped, looked her over, then eyed her weapons bag.  He tipped his chin.  “What’re you doin?”

Her eyes narrowed on him.  “You know what I’m doing.”

His jaw shifted and he rubbed the back of his head.  “Ya need ta let us handle this.”

Denim snorted.  “Don’t try to play Mikey’s role with me, Raphael.  They’ve got my daughter.  My baby.  And I’m not afraid.”  She turned, looked over the roof’s edge, her heart sinking as more people bled into the alley.  “Shit.”

“We need ta get you back to the lair.  We’ll get Alli back, you just haveta stay put.”  He looked over the edge.  “Ain’t goin’ back that way though.”  He turned, looked her up and down.  “I’ll carry ya, come on.”

Denim crossed her arms.  “The only place I’m going is the warehouse on 42nd to get Alli back.  And you can either help me or get the hell out of my way, but if you try to force me to do what you want,” she frowned, “the way your brother did, I’m gonna make every day you know me hell.”  She took a step towards him, lifted an eyebrow.  “And I like your brother, so I think I’ll stick around for a long, long time.”

Raph stared at her.  “You already make my life hell.  Lair.  Now.”

Pushing him wasn’t working and she was wasting time.  Alli was probably terrified, and who knew what Keith was doing to her.  Tears rushed to her eyes and Raph’s lip quivered. 

“What’re you doin’?” He frowned, took a step back.  “Oh, don’ do that.”

Denim swallowed hard, fresh tears brimming.  “Raph, I have to get my baby.  Imagine Keith had Mikey, or any of your brothers.  Would you want to stand on a rooftop arguing about who should go where, or would you just want to get there and save them?”

Raph grumbled, rubbed the back of his head.  “Fine.  But I’m comin’ wit’ ya.  Gonna carry ya though, it’ll go faster.  So, c’mere.”

She didn’t care how she got there, so long as she did and quick.  He shifted her bag, so it rest across her front, then scooped her up. 

“Hold on,” he said, taking his first leap.

Her stomach bottomed out.  “Hold onto what?  Your damn arms are so big, I can’t get my hands around them!”

He snickered, taking another leap that took her breath away.  She glanced down as he launched himself into the air.  “Oh, my god,” she gasped at the street six stories below.  She pressed her head against his plastron, squeezing her eyes tight.  The dips and rallies came and went, her heart pounding. 

“Uh, you can open ya’ eyes now.”

She swallowed as he lowered her to her feet.  It took her a second to get her bearings, the world spinning. The ground felt strange as her body anticipated more leaps.  Her stomach rolled, everything tipped and she reached out grabbing his forearm. 

“Okay, let’s try to never do that again.”  She rubbed her face, took slow, deep inhales and exhales.  “Like ever.”

Raph chuckled.  “You sure you’re gonna keep up with my baby brother?”

Her eyes narrowed on him.  “He can go do all of that,” she waved a hand toward the line of rooftops behind them, “craziness by himself.”

He shrugged.  “You still gonna let him keep doin’ this with us?”

She straightened, rubbed her face.  “Raphael, I have no desire to change who your brother is, or what he does, or did before me.” She met him with an even gaze.  “Not so long as we can keep Alli safe.  So uh, can we get to work on that?”

He stared at her a few seconds then nodded.  “We can get in through there.” He pointed to an air vent.  Then motioned to her weapons.  “Gonna have to stash those.”

Denim nodded, opened her bag and strapped Daisy, Kyle’s Beretta, to her thigh.  She handed her bag to Raph, who broke the doorknob on the utility closet and placed it on a shelf inside.  With no effort at all, he removed the front of the air vent, tossing it to the side.

“Could you make more noise?” she complained.  “What happened to ninja stealth?”

He cracked his neck.  “I’m good either way.”  He motioned to the air shaft.  “After you.”

She climbed inside, and took a shaky breath trying to calm her racing heart.  This wasn’t her specialty.  This was very, very dangerous for her and Alli was at stake.  She looked back at Raph.  “Uh, I’m not a close combat kinda girl.”

Raph grinned.  “That’s fine.  Cas’ I’m a close combat kinda guy.”

Her hands were shaking as she lowered herself into the shaft, dropping down four feet before spreading her legs to wedge her feet against the sides.  Cobwebs tangled around her and she covered her face.  She looked up and Raph motioned for her to keep going.  She looked down, slipped a hand into her utility belt and pulled out a penlight.  It shone down the shaft and she cringed at the spiders crawling along the walls.  Damn.  She closed her eyes took a deep breath and dropped the next five feet stopping herself just before the bottom.  She shone the light to the right, illuminating the path before her.  There was a vent and a small trickle of light shining through.  She crawled through stopping at it.

Raph didn’t make a sound in his descent, but she felt him behind her.  She put the penlight in her mouth, then reached in her belt for a pocket knife and began unscrewing the vent when Raph started to complain.

“Move,” he grumbled.

She was about to crawl to the other side, but heard voices.  She peered through the grate. 

Exposed steel beams branched out across the ceiling, other than that, the drop to the ground was a good twenty five feet.  There, pacing the concrete below them, were at least five armed men.  Beyond them, was a cluster of about fifteen. Among them, she recognized the faces of the two men that attacked her and Mikey, several of the cops that beat them, and Keith Lowry.   Denim cringed.  That was a lot of man power for her.  But where was Alli?

Raph tapped her shoulder and she glanced back at him, flashed both her hands twice ,then pointed to the vent.  He nodded and she resumed unscrewing the vent.  She lifted the grate and slid it to the other side then peeked to find the nearest beam.  Damn.  It was at least five feet away.  She held up one hand.  He nodded again then reached out and snapped a clip attached to a cable on her belt. 

She lowered herself through the vent, dropping onto the nearest beam below.  Raph dropped down behind her and motioned for her to cross to one side.  She crawled along the beams still tied off to Raph, hoping he didn’t fall because she’d be fucked.  But as she looked behind her, he was sure footed and silent. 

“Princess is going to make a video message for her Mommy,” Keith announced.

Denim froze, looked down and tracked Lowry moving towards an office near the entrance of the warehouse.  One hand drifted toward the Beretta on her thigh but a green hand gripped her shoulder.  She glanced at Raph, wanted to ignore the slight shake of his head.  Then lyrics pierced the air.

_“Because I'm happy! Clap along if you feel like a room without a roof!”_

Denim’s eyes shot to Raph.  “Are you serious?” she mouthed.

Raph scrambled to silence the ringing device flashing his baby brother’s picture, belting out the lyrics to Happy.  In the fraction of a second, twenty heads whipped up.  “How was I s’posed to know he was dumb enough to call?  I told him what we were doin’!”

Denim’s mouth fell open.  “You did what? He’s Mikey, of course he’s gonna call!” 

The men below were yelling, scrambling and pulling weapons.  Several shots were fired, bullets sparking off nearby beams.  Denim raised a hand to cover her head and Raph reached out yanked her close, sheltering her. 

“Why would you tell him?  You know he didn’t want me here!” Denim yelled, reaching down and pulling her gun.  She peered under his arm, aimed and fired.  One down. 

“Cas’ I don’ want to be responsible if you get yourself killed.  And look, your tryin’ ta get ya’ self killed! Stop shootin’ and get closer. I can’t protect your face if you’re stickin’ it out!” He tried to squeeze her near so she couldn’t move, but she was small and peered through the space between his arm and thigh. 

Keith clapped his hands together, beaming as he jogged toward the office, disappearing inside. 

“Dammit, he’s going for Alli!” she hissed, aiming for another shooter and firing. Two down. 

Raphael growled, reached up, clipped something to the beam then leapt from the ceiling.  Her breath was stolen in the drop, and he landed hard, using himself as a shield while bullets bounced off his shell.  One grazed his calf, another hit his arm and he snarled, glanced around, then ran carrying her in between rows of massive metal crates.  He planted her between two. “Stay put.” 

Then he was gone.

Like hell was she staying put.

She crept along the row, heard boots approaching.  Just beyond, there was shouting and the thud of bodies hitting the floor. 

She recognized the face of the drunk from Murakami’s when he appeared, blocking one end of the row.  She shot at him and he fired back, the bullet ricocheting between the crates just above her.  She ducked then ran a zigzag in the opposite direction as he closed in on her, taking several more shots.  When she came to the other end of the row, she found it blocked by another familiar face.  The drunk’s sidekick flashed her a smile that made her stomach turn.

“He said not to kill her.  He didn’t say we couldn’t play with her.” He shot at the ground beneath her feet and she jumped, sensed his partner closing in on her. 

_Shit. Shit. Shit._

Sidekick pointed his gun-wielding hand toward her, motioning to her Beretta.  “Drop the gun.”

Denim shifted sideways so she could see Drunk in her peripheral, while Sidekick stepped closer.  Taking a deep breath, she leapt up twisting her body, her torso turning toward Drunk.  She fired a shot in his upper left shoulder, while her foot followed the rotation all the way around until she planted her shoe in Sidekicks face.  The blow knocked him back and she stepped forward, shooting him once in each shoulder before turning on her heel, marching for the office.  So far she hadn’t deliver a single kill shot, but she certainly had one in mind.

As she rounded the aisle, Keith emerged from the office holding a gun to Alli’s head.  Denim’s legs turned to jelly. 

“Tut-tut-tut,” he clicked his tongue.  “Everybody stop.” He motioned toward the fight ensuing at his right, just out of Denim’s line-of-sight.  He looked at Denim, lifted his eyebrows.  “Call that _thing_ off, or,” he kissed the top of Alli’s head, “baby girl will cry for us.” 

Alli’s little cheeks were tear-stained, her eyes glossy.  “Mommy,” she sobbed, kicking her little feet.  “Mommy!”

Denim wanted to blow his brains out.  Her chest was so tight she couldn’t breathe, her heart not daring to beat.  She heard two more bodies hit the floor.

Keith raised an expectant eyebrow.  “Well, what will it be?” He cocked the gun and Denim choked.

“R-raph?” her voice cracked.  She cleared her throat, tried again.  “Raph?”

Silence filled the warehouse, hung in the air like time had been suspended.  Seconds past and Keith motioned toward her gun holding hand.  “Drop it.”

Denim’s fingers parted from her weapon.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Who’s still with me out there? 


	23. You Can't Kill Him

Keith smiled and motioned his gun toward the aisle where she assumed Raph was.   “Drop your forks.”

A snarl breeched Raph’s lips.  Keith pointed the weapon at Allison again and the sound of metal clinking against concrete pierced the air. 

“Good, now,” Keith inhaled Alli’s hair and locked eyes with Denim.  “Smells like, Momma, strawberries and cream.”

Denim’s chest rose and fell, her fingers digging into her palms.  “You want me, Lowry.  Here I am.  Let my baby go, she has nothing to do with this.”

Keith laughed.  “She has everything to do with this.  You killed my kid, seems only fitting-”

The lights went out, the warehouse falling into shadow.   Denim grabbed her gun and ran to the end of the row toward Keith. With Alli hanging precariously under one arm, he aimed for the ceiling firing haphazard warning shots.  Each one presented a bright red spot, giving away his location and she raced to the open space.  As she chased Keith she caught sight of two red sparks dragging along the concrete in her periphery, metal scraping the ground followed by Raphael’s battle cry. 

The air around her was cut with whooshes, sounds of wood on bone, chains clinking, and the death gasps of steel piercing flesh.  But those were background noises, her focus was the asshole trying to get away with Alli.  

Denim lifted her weapon, aimed for Keith’s leg and fired.  She grazed him.  But she couldn’t risk hitting Alli and it was so dark.  A leg was the best she could do.  Keith was almost to the door when something metallic sliced the air, landing in the arm he had around her daughter. 

Keith screamed, dropping Allison, then yanked the shuriken from his arm before escaping through the door. 

Denim snatched Alli up, kissing her, breathed her in and held her so tight she squeaked.  “Mommy, I can’t breathe!”

“Get her out of here, Denim!” Michelangelo’s voice echoed from somewhere in the darkness. 

Denim kissed Allison’s face as she ran with her.  Her mistake was taking the same door Keith had.  But where else was she supposed to go?  It was dark inside and that was the closest exit.  The second the door shut behind her a shot fired. The hit sent her flying back into the steel, the back of her head rocking the door. 

Alli slid from her arms, screaming.  “Mommy!”

Denim blinked through the pain exploding in her shoulder, saw the blood splattered over Allison’s shirt and gasped.  “Are you hit?  Alli, are you hurt?”

“No, Mommy you are!”  Alli screamed, tugging on Denim’s arm to get her up. 

Another shot fired, hit the door above her head.  That one came from higher up.  Denim grunted, her arm hanging limp against her side, the pain branching out through her chest making it hard to breathe.  “This way baby, I need,” Denim panted, ground her teeth, “you need to go hide, behind the dumpster in the alley.  Take my phone.  Don’t come out for anyone but Mikey or someone in his family.”

Another shot whizzed by her, she felt the bullet cut the air.  She speed dialed Michelangelo, planted her phone in Allison’s hand and shoved her into the alley.  “Now!  Alli go!”

Allison sobbed as Denim lifted her Beretta, taking shots in the direction of the incoming fire.  She knew she wasn’t hitting anything, but it gave Alli the cover she needed to hide.  “Go, Alli!  Go!”

Allison blubbered, her cheeks flushed red, tears pouring down as she turned, stumbled and righted herself.  She looked back, sobbing, and Denim waved her on.  “Go, Alli, please, please go!” 

Alli’s little legs pumped as she ran whimpering into the alleyway.  Denim only prayed no one else found her.  She struggled to her feet and ran in a s-pattern around the opposite side of the building away from Allison, hoping Keith would opt to come after her instead.  Shot’s pierced the air, hitting the bricks above her head and the street to her right. 

“Fucker’s a terrible shot,” she muttered, ducking into the alley and running for the fire escape. 

She hoisted herself up, climbing with ferocity, the bullet imbedded in her shoulder forcing her to hiss, gasp, and stop at every landing.  She made it to the to the last platform and looked up.  Her gun was up there.  She was wounded and she’d never make it up without-

A familiar green face peered over the side.  “What’cha think you’re doing?”

She panted, gripping her shoulder as she met Michelangelo’s displeased frown.  “I’m gonna kill the asshole that tried to take my baby,” she said, motioning to him with her head.  “Help me up and tell me why you don’t have her?”

He reached out a hand, lifting her up by her good arm.  The pulling movement sent her damaged muscles into a new level of hell.  “Ah!” she gasped as he set her to her feet and pulled her close, applying pressure to the wound.  “Ah, shit, Mikey stop!”

“That’s a lot of blood, Denim.” He shook his head, raised an eye ridge and motioned toward the hand of her wounded arm where crimson drops slipped over her palm onto the rooftop below. 

She panted, forcing breaths through the pain.  “Don’t care,” she ground out, “got an asshole to kill.”  She motioned her head behind him.  “My gun’s in the utility closet.  Let me go.”

“Not even,” he refused.  “Leo has Alli, and we’re taking you to the hospital.”

She grunt, swiped her good arm at him but it was a weak attempt.  “Get off, Mikey.  Seriously, I don’t-”

A bullet hit the rooftop just feet away from them.  Mikey scooped her up and ran behind the utility closet, using it for cover, another shot landing closer.  He hovered over her like a shield.

“He’ll have to readjust.” She shook her head.  “Pretty’s not meant for rapidly moving targets.  He’s going to keep missing as long as we keep moving.  I, on the other hand, brought Sugar.” She took deep breaths, looked at the frown on Mikey’s face.  “Ah, stop.  A girls gotta do what a girls gotta do.  And Sugar can be adjusted a hell of a lot quicker than Pretty, and she’s got thermal detection.  That fucker is so dead.”  She leaned forward kissed Michelangelo’s cheek.  His eyes closed and she ducked under his arm.  “Cover me.”   

She still had the Beretta and shot toward the rooftop to her left, where the incoming fire was stemming from.  Michelangelo snatched her up, letting out an uncharacteristic growl as he returned her to the back of the utility closet.  “Stop, Denim.  You _can’t_ kill him.”

Blood trickled off her hand in a steady stream, her uniform sticking to her.  She needed that damn gun and he was going to be impossible for her to get around.  She glared at him.

He frowned, spoke softly to her.  “You can’t kill him.”

Denim’s teeth clenched.  “He took my baby.  I _can_.”

“No, you can’t.” he repeated.

She twisted to see the building, already calculating her shot. 

“Denim, you can’t.” He reached out, guided her chin so she faced him. 

She blinked, panting hard beneath the pain racking her chest.  “Why not?”

His eye ridges lifted and he flashed her half of a Mikey smile.  “Cas’ you and Alli can’t move in with me if you’re in jail.”

She stared at him.

A few seconds passed, another shot cracked the roof, biting into the brick’s supporting the utility closet.  She ducked instinctively although Michelangelo didn’t move, his eyes still locked on hers. 

“You’re serious?” she asked.

He nodded.  “I was thinking we’d find a place with two bedrooms.  You know, Alli would love having her own room.”

Denim let out a laugh, then gasped and coughed.  “Two things.  First, I’m pretty sure we’re still going to jail for the-”

Another shot hit, this one closer.  Mikey repositioned her so she was beneath him and he was curled over her.  “We’re not going to jail for that.  I told you my bro’s would figure something out and Donnie did.”  He shrugged.  “So what’s the second thing?”

Denim groaned.  “Can’t you just let me shoot him?  It’d be really easy, only take a few seconds, I promise.”

Michelangelo’s eyes sparkled.  “Nah, don’t think so.  I like you.” He grinned, waggled his eye ridges, “a lot.  So what’s the second thing, come on, we need to get to the part where you say yes.”

Denim couldn’t help the upturn of her lips, wanted to kiss him and admit that she’d follow him anywhere.  But that would give him a bigger head than he already had.  She sighed, tried to play it casual. “Alli’s totally going to crawl in bed with us in the middle of the night.”

He leaned forward, pecked her lips.  “I’m gonna take that for a yes.” He smiled, tipping his chin at her.  “Now, I have a present for you.” He held up a finger.  “Stay here.  I’ll be right back.”

As he stood, another shot was fired but was nowhere close enough to hit him.

He disappeared and she leaned heavily on the wall, feeling the edges of her mind blur.  He returned with the tranq gun Donnie had made for her.  “You _can_ shoot him with this.  Then we’ll just deliver him to the police.”

Denim huffed, but accepted the weapon, knowing the scope on it was exactly what she needed.  It was a clever weapon really, a small detachable stand mounted to one side.  She slipped it off, setting herself up with one hand.  Mikey’s fingers kept creeping in and she’d swat them away.  But when she struggled to open the chamber he announced, “I can do it.  Donnie’s been teaching me how.”

She slumped against the wall, taking a second to rest.  He set to work and mere seconds later she was set.  She stared at him, having just watched him assemble her weapon with near military precision. 

“Is there nothing you can’t do?” she asked, rolling to her stomach.

“I’m sure there is,” he shrugged. “But I’ll try pretty much anything.  If I ever figure out something though, I’ll let you know.”

Denim peered through her scope.  “I can’t adjust it, but it looks good to me.  Did Donnie-”

“Yep, let me see.” He looked, made a slight adjustment and checked again.  “There’s a prize in there for you.”

Denim checked her sights, noted for the thousandth time that Michelangelo was amazing and found her target.  Keith was out in the open, struggling with her gun.  Whatever his military role was, it sure as hell wasn’t sniper. 

“What’s the range on these darts?” she asked, resting her finger on the trigger.

“I dunno,” Mikey said cheerfully, “shoot him and let’s find out.”

 Denim smiled, inhaled and squeezed the trigger.

XOXOXOX

“You didn’t have to shoot him three times, Denim.” Donatello admonished her, yet watched every tool the nurse reached for, even stopping to advise her of a better antiseptic option before permitting her to clean Denim’s sutures. 

Denim rolled her eyes.  “How was I supposed to know the range of one of your tranq darts?  A normal one is like one-hundred twenty yards.”

Donnie smirked then waved at the nurse again.  “I think you want to put two gauze pads on it, then tape it with-”

The nurse glared at him.  “I’m sorry.  Do _you_ want to do this?”

The hospital door opened and Michelangelo stepped in carrying Allison, her little arms in a death grip around his neck.  “How’s everything in here?” he asked, allowing Alli to transfer herself from him to curl up against Denim.

“Mommy!” Alli smiled, her little mouth outlined in a ring of telltale chocolate.  “Mikey, gave me ice cream for lunch, and it was chocolate with sprinkles and gummy bears!”

Denim’s eyebrows rose, she looked at Alli with a tight lipped smile.  “Did he now?  I couldn’t tell.”

“He-he, uh, yeah.  Alli, you weren’t supposed to tell!  We got to work on your ninja skills.”  He flashed Denim a sheepish grin, sinking into the seat beside her bed. 

“Ninja skills?” Donnie echoed. “Her mouth looks like she was finger-painting with chocolate and her face was the canvas.”

Mikey’s smile waivered.  “Yeah, true.  But it was delicious and she ate all of it.  Not like when she leaves half the food on her plate at dinner.”

“Mikey, it’s _chocolate_.”  Denim and Donnie said in unison.

“He-he.” He squirmed.

Alli licked the side of her mother’s face.  “You don’t taste like strawberries.  Mikey, you’re wrong!”

Denim’s eyes locked on Michelangelo’s.  “Seriously?”

Mikey’s mouth hung open, his lips moving but no words coming out. 

Donnie cleared his throat.  “And on _that_ note… Denim, I’m glad you’re feeling better.  I’m off to deliver evidence to the lawyer.  Good thing we have plenty of it.”

Denim leaned away from Alli, who was now pretending to be a puppy, attempting to lick her face again.  “Just one thing,” she called to Donatello.

“Hm?” Donnie asked, reaching over the nurse to hand her a box of bandages.  The nurse scowled. 

“I know you found that backdoor page showing the sniper killings, but what did you find to clear me and Mikey from the case at Murakami’s?  He never got to tell me, being we were getting shot at and all.”

“Oh, good question.  Which reminds me,” Donnie reached in his pocket, handed over her phone, “you should really check your messages.”  He winked, turned and left.

Denim held the phone, staring at it.  “He didn’t answer my question.”

Mikey chuckled.  “Sure he did, Blue Jeans.  Listen to your messages.”

Denim swiped the screen, while straining to evade Allison’s pawing at her.  “Okay, Alli, why don’t you climb on Mikey some more?  He can help get that chocolate off your face, then Mommy can talk to him about appropriate lunch foods for two-” 

‘Almost three!” Alli squealed as Mikey picked her up.

“Almost three-year-olds.” Denim agreed, struggling to use her phone with one hand.  Green fingers appeared over the device, swiped the screen and programmed the phone to call her voice mail.  Denim looked up at him, felt her heart swell to see both his smile, and her daughter rubbing chocolate all over his cheek.

Her voice mail rang then the messages played.  The first seven were all lawyers then…

“Hi, my name is Sara.  I was at Murakami’s the night those guys attacked you.  Mr. Murakami gave me your number.  Thing is, I only want to give this to you, but uh, I was filming Mr. Murakami on his hibachi that night.  I saw what was happening and recorded the whole thing.  Please call me, I feel strongly about this and want to help.  My number is 555-4376.”

XOXOXOX

Denim’s arm was still in a sling as she adjusted the strap of her tank dress and stood upon the bailiff’s demand that everyone rise.

The judge marched in and took her seat.  Everyone sat down and Denim looked over her shoulder where Connie, Mikey and Alli sat together.  Mikey was talking to Alli and didn’t notice her staring at him.  Court had gone well for them both on the Murkami case.  The case against the police was ongoing and branched out beyond Mikey and Denim’s attack.  And her case against her employer earned her job back, but she decided to stay at her new one, the pay was better.  This was all that was left. 

In the row behind Mikey, Connie, and Alli were April, Donnie, Karai, Leo, Raph and Master Splinter.  Casey sat on one side of Denim, and the attorney, Lara, on her other.  Denim had never felt so much support for her in one room.  Whatever the outcome, she knew they’d get through it.

“Ms. Sanders, I’m going to keep this brief,” the judge began, and Denim held her breath.  “In light of recent events surrounding this case, the fact that the petitioner has not only withdrawn, but is sitting behind you, and your case worker, Mr. Jones has provided me reports of a healthy family life, we hereby return sole custody of Allison Kyle Sanders to you.  On a side note, I’m pleased to see such a happy blended family.  You are a courageous woman, Ms. Sanders, and we wish you, Allison, and Mr. Hamato all the best.  This court is dismissed.” 

 

****

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Almost done guys, two more chapters and one BIG announcement coming up.  Don’t leave me yet. :D


	24. Make The Call

"Make the call, Mikey," April insisted, ducking a street thug’s switchblade.    
  
With a flick of his wrist Mikey’s chucks whacked April's attacker in the head. "Nope," he refused.  
  
He blocked another gangster then glanced around.  What they'd thought were four thugs led them to the home base of Undertow the latest street gang to rise up.  No biggie.  Except it seemed Undertow had a _lot_ of members and _everybody_ was home.  There were at least thirty of them, human and mutant alike and they were far from friendly.    
  
Mikey ducked and wove, dodging three attackers before one slashed his arm.  He glared at the guy.  Quickly, he disarmed the man, casting his knife aside and flinging him into a pile of his friends before the fella knew what hit him.    
  
Beside him, Karai and April were back to back, struggling with an onslaught of men, many four times their size.  "Make the call, Mikey!" They bellowed in unison.  
  
"Nope," he refused again, casting three shuriken into the outline of their attackers.   
  
Raph had been having a good time early on, but as more men poured in through the doors, he was inching toward the center of the room, Leo doing the same on his other side.  "Mikey!"  The two yelled as a handful of gang members pulled guns.  "Make the call!"  
  
Mikey found himself backing into Karai and April. Donne swiped three guys in one stroke of his staff, while doing something on his phone with his free hand.  "I'll make the call,” he announced.  
  
"Aww, but I wanted to make the call,” Mikey whined.  
  
"Really, _I'm_ supposed to make the calls," Leo muttered, before punching a guy in the face.  
  
"How long you think it’ll be before she gets here?" April asked, swiping an attacker in the face with her tessen.  
  
_Pop. Pop. Pop.  
_  
Every gang member surrounding Michelangelo dropped, one by one.  Mikey grinned, "She's here."  
  
_Pop. Pop. Pop._  
  
As their comrades fell, the remaining men on the ground scrambled, sending a spray of bullets toward the ceiling.  
  
Karai laughed.  "You're shooting at a ghost, idiots."  
  
Leo's brow furrowed.  "How'd she get here so fast?"  
  
_Pop. Pop. Pop.  
_  
The team worked to pick off the gun wielders first.  Denim seemed to be doing the same thing.    
  
Donnie swung his staff, whirling, spinning, and striking.  "I might've sent her a heads up, along with our location when I realized what we stumbled on."  He glanced at Mikey and shrugged.  "She was kind of on stand-by."  
  
The microphone clipped to the tails of Mikey’s mask crackled as three more shots pierced the air.  The guy he was fighting dropped before Mikey had a chance to hurt him.  "Aww, Blue Jeans, you gotta leave us a few."  
  
Denim's laugh flitted up to him and his heart swelled with the urge to go home.  "Sorry, Mikey, I promised Master Splinter I'd be home before the pizza got cold."  
  
"What?" he exclaimed, almost looking to where he knew she was hidden, but stopping himself so as not to give her up. "You got a pizza without me?"  
  
Denim snickered.  "Mikey, there’s one just for you in the oven.  So, clean house and come home.  Alli is threatening to eat all of your double fudge brownie ice-cream for dessert."  
  
_Pop. Pop. Pop._  
  
"Leo, we almost done here?" Mikey asked, then launched into a roundhouse taking out two more gang members.  
  
Leo glanced around. Most threats were either down, had run, or were inching toward the door.  "We're good.  Send her home."

 


	25. Whole

Find table space to say your social graces

Bow your heads, they’re pious here, but you and I we’re pioneers

We make our own rules, our own room, no bias here

Let’em sell what they are sellin’, there are no buyers here

~Alessia Cara, Wild Things

 

Mikey was in the shower when she woke, she could hear the water through the wall.  Their new place wasn’t so much bigger than either her or his old one, but it did have a second bedroom.  It really just meant their bedroom was smaller, which, to them, was fine.  The updated kitchen and bathroom were nice perks.  Denim liked it, and as long as she and Alli were happy and the neighborhood satisfied him, Mikey was, too. 

Denim loved the large bedroom window, although the view from it wasn’t great.  The blinds were open enough to let morning light filter in, and she liked waking up to that.  She snuggled under the comforter, picking up Mikey’s scent on her pillow.  Her insides whirled and she breathed in deeper then rolled over, finding a lump behind her. 

“Ow, Mommy, you’re squishin’ me,” Alli grumbled.

Denim laughed.  “It’s time to get up anyway, misses.” 

Alli sat up, her eyes bright, hair sticking up in the back.  “Oh, I’ll get dressed.  Is it going to be hot or cold out?”

“Must be nice to pop up like that,” Denim stretched and groaned.  “What _did_ the weather say?  Oh, cool today I think.  Wear long pants and a t-shirt.”

When she opened her eyes, Alli was darting out the door.  Denim slipped from the bed, dressed and made her way down the hall.  The water was still running, but when she checked the bathroom door it wasn’t locked.  She stepped inside, washed her face, brushed her teeth then looked up to find Mikey peeking around the shower curtain.

“Morning, Blue Jeans,” he chirped.

She couldn’t help the smile on her face. “Morning, Mikey.  I’m going to make breakfast.  Pancakes okay?”

He grinned. “Pancakes sound great!”

She pecked him quickly on the lips, just evading the thick arm that threatened to drag her in the shower with him.  “Uh, no, I’m dressed!” She swatted him off.  “And Alli is getting dressed.  I have to go.”

His bottom lip formed a pout, then he disappeared behind the shower curtain again. 

She stepped into the kitchen, turned on the little Bluetooth speaker she’d gotten for her birthday, then picked up her phone and selected her morning playlist. 

_“So gather all the rebels now, we’ll rabble-rouse and sing aloud. We don’t care what they say, no way, no way.  And we will leave the empty chairs to those who say we can’t sit there.  We’re fine all by ourselves.”_

Alli bounded into the kitchen in a pink polka dotted bouncy skirt.  She twirled in little circles and shook her butt. 

_“So aye, we brought our drum and this how we dance.  No mistakin’, we make our breaks, if you don’t like our 808s then leave us alone, cause we don’t need your policies.  We have no apologies for being…”_

Denim laughed, grabbing bowls, measuring cups, flour and baking soda all while dancing with her daughter. 

_“Find me where the wild things are.  We’ll be alright, don’t mind us, yeah.  Find me where the wild things are.  We’ll be just fine, don’t mind us, yeah.  Find me where the wild things are.”_

Denim was in a low dip when she felt a hard body step up behind her and pick up the rhythm.  Her insides ran hot, her cheeks a blaze.  Caught up in the moment, she’d forgotten they weren’t alone anymore.

_“We will carve our place into time and space.  We will find our way, or we’ll make a way, say hey, hey.  Hey find your grace, don’t hide your face.  And let it shine, shine, shine, shine.”_

Mikey grinned against her neck and her heart fluttered.  One thing was certain, the boy could move.  She was going to stop dancing, but his hands found her hips, guiding her close to him.  She turned her head, her lips finding his cheek.  “You know we have an audience.”

Mikey stepped back, spun Denim around and there was Alli, arms crossed, pouty-lipped and foot tapping.  With an amused chuckle, he reached down, took her hand and she twirled.  With Mikey’s attention on her, Alli was elated, shaking her little hips from side to side, her little skirt bouncing and swirling.  She stuck out her little hands, opening and closing them while tapping her feet, then clapping to the beat well for a three-year-old. 

Denim watched the two dancing in her tiny kitchen, the music was good, the company better, and for the first time since she could remember, her life, her little family, was whole.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N:  Well now.  That was quite the ride, eh?  I would like to extend a special thanks to Illusionna, Phoenix500, and Katstories for helping me throughout this story with brainstorming and beta-ing.  Special thanks also to Stitcherbell, Bubblyshell, Wakasta, Nlingford, Baker1413, Leetah1999, Beautyandharmoney, Wolfjade28, Xahraxs, Frostwhitestorm1614, Dragonchild157, Theblackbirdaska, Cute-and-nerdy1202, Koriat Cyredanthem, sxilxi1231, Jensfolly, StrangeAngels, Maflopala, collegemutant10, Deadhero, Dreamgreen, harmony-77, Donatellosgirl36, sommeabitch and every guest who reviewed or left kudos. 
> 
> Guys-n-gals if you hadn’t encouraged it this story wouldn’t exist.  That is the power of your reviews!  That is the difference they make.  You have inspired and encouraged me and I hope that I have entertained you.
> 
> THE ANNOUNCEMENT I PROMISED: 
> 
> One last thing before this story closes, for now (there might be a part II), Illusionna was beta-ing for me and mentioned several times that she kept wanting to insert her OC’s from her story The Other Side of The City into my AU.  Then Baker1413 reviewed saying she kept wanting Zoe to show up and kick butt (I actually had to resist the urge to put her in while writing).  Well, Illusionna, Phoenix500 and I have been working on an AU for this AU, with a pretty incredible cast.  If you have read the original Zoe story, want more Denim and Mikey, Raph and Zoe, and are familiar with Illusionna’s OC’s from The Other Side of the City you might be interested in Have Dinner With Me’s AU, Their Side of The City.   Find it on Deviant Art as a group called TheirSideofTheCity (you must smoosh it together or you won't find us in the search).  You can find me under Mysteryred1.  Until next time, Happy Reading!


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